


The Beauty of a Broken Angel

by CaseNumber825



Series: Not Even Heaven and Hell Could Part Us [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: A Good Old Fashion Love Triangle, Discussions Relating To Gender Identity, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everybody Loves Aziraphale, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, M/M, Rating May Change, References to Torture, Rivalry, Sort Of, Warnings May Change, because I said so
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-01-15 23:30:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18509293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaseNumber825/pseuds/CaseNumber825
Summary: The Apocalypse has been averted and the Earth has calmed down once more. Now Aziraphale and Crowley can be left in peace to do what they've been doing for over six millennia. Right?Except Heaven isn't quite as lenient on Aziraphale as he'd hoped, and Hell has more than a few choice words to say to Crowley.So when Heaven's idea of punishment gives Hell ample opportunity to get back at their own wayward demon, Crowley has to put aside his own feelings and partner up with his least favourite archangel.It's Hurt/Comfort, it's Angst, it's ever-so-slightly comedic (maybe? I'm no Neilman or Sir Terry)(Rating and Warnings subject to change)





	1. A Celestial Ritual

The first thing that Crowley noticed upon his arrival to Aziraphale’s recently restored bookshop, aside from the standard sense of relief that happened to befall him every time he saw that said shop was perfectly intact and absolutely not on fire, was the prominent ‘Closed’ sign in the window of the shop door. He frowned and looked down at his watch. Tapped it once. Then once more. Then frowned a second time. No, he definitely hadn’t overslept. It was, most assuredly, 1:00am on a Tuesday morning and one of Aziraphale’s favourite times to open his bookshop.

Of course if you actually asked Aziraphale, he would stress that ideally he would prefer to never have to flip that sign over to the ‘Open’ side. However, the solicitors were quite clear in their argument that he would not be able to classify the building as a ‘shop’ if he was never open and that if he was not using the premises as a shop then he would have to give up said building to someone who was going to use it for its intended purpose. Never let it be said that Aziraphale wasn’t extremely passive aggressive when the occasion called for it.

The second thing that had Crowley concerned, was the overwhelming aura of Divine Good that invaded every sense of his being. This was, of course, not to say that an aura of Divine Good didn’t usually surround the small shop on the corner of a generally unremarkable street in Soho. There was a reason that people still chose to visit the place, despite the unusual opening times and Aziraphale’s other numerous and elaborate attempts to make his residency as ‘un-shop-like’ as he possibly could.

The shops usual aura of Divine Good, however, wasn’t anywhere near as suffocating to Crowley as what was currently bombarding him. This was to Goodness what hospitals were to cleanliness. By-the-book, clinical, absolutely complete and purposeful.

And Crowley knew exactly who that particular aura of Divine Good belonged to. He’d sensed it before. It had been surrounding Aziraphale just before The Apocalypse That Never Was. He’d sensed it every time Aziraphale doubted _their_ plan and put his faith in Heaven’s _Great Plan_ instead. And as such, that aura brought out a very particular type of loathing that brewed deep in Crowley’s gut.

He shook his head slightly and forced _that_ feeling down. Best not go in there all guns blazing. If he approached slowly, he might be able to make out what was going on without interrupting anything and potentially inciting Aziraphale’s disappointment. Despite disagreeing with them in regards to the Apocalypse, Aziraphale still wanted to believe that Heaven was not only Good, but also good.

He crept towards the shop, using as much of his natural snake-like agility as he could and paused just at the point where he could begin to make out the conversation,

“-truly am sorry about this.”

There he was, Crowley bristled as he heard the voice, that smug git Gabriel. Heaven’s favourite. Source of probably at least 75% of Aziraphale’s insecurities.

“I know you are, Gabriel, it’s not your fault. Would you like any tea before the deed is done?”

The frown that had appeared on Crowley’s face as he pulled up to the shop, had now returned ten-fold, along with a sinking feeling of dread that was currently joining the aforementioned loathing within his gut. Sometimes Crowley did wish he hadn’t gone quite so native. It was a bit of a nuisance having quite so many feelings running around inside you at any one time.

“No, thank you. Aziraphale, if I had any say in the matter, I would not have let it come to this. I tried to argue in your defence.”

Usually Crowley would have rolled his eyes in disbelief at what Gabriel was saying, but that feeling of dread was quickly becoming the dominant feeling within Crowley’s body. They couldn’t have –

Then came a heavy sigh, “Once He’s made up his mind, no argument can possibly dissuade Him”

Crowley could hear his angel’s voice, thick with emotion and resonating defeat with every word and suddenly all forms of logic fled and he burst through the shop door in a manner that was probably less impressive than he’d hoped it would have been, but that was currently the last thing on his mind,

“Don’t you even think about it!”

At least Aziraphale had the decency to look somewhat surprised by his sudden arrival. Gabriel barely moved a muscle, and certainly didn’t give him the courtesy to even turn and face him,

“This is not a matter for you to concern yourself with, demon.”

Crowley almost grinned at the perturbed look that Aziraphale focused in the archangel, if not for the sudden revelation he had,

“So how long did you know I was there then?”

“From the moment you slithered onto the street. You’re not as sneaky as you think are.”

Crowley concluded that it would be most un-demonic to huff in the face of one of Heaven’s top tier angels. So he decided to just hold his tongue entirely and fix the other with his most well-rehearsed glare. The one glare that was reserved for the archangel in question and none other. And he was entirely certain that said glare would have had Gabriel at least slightly concerned. If Gabriel had even bothered turning to receive it, and if Crowley had bothered to take off his sunglasses.

Aziraphale, for his part, was performing a rather impressive bout of mental gymnastics as he tried to work out a way to diffuse the almost-unbearably tense confrontation between the archangel he admired and the demon he loved.

“Well,” He chimed in, airily, wringing his hands together with a nervousness that Crowley knew meant his angel was close to the point of shooing both of them out of his shop, “As we’ve already been interrupted somewhat,” and Crowley would have felt bad about it if not for the somewhat grateful look Aziraphale shot his way, “Perhaps I should pop the kettle on anyway. I, for one, would rather have soothing cup of chamomile tea before the… well… before what needs to be done is done, I suppose”

Neither of the beings in the front room of his shop had the chance to protest before the angel darted into the back kitchen, the clinking of cups and teaspoons soon following his departure. Crowley knew from experience that when Aziraphale ‘popped the kettle on’, that meant he wouldn’t return for at least five minutes while he calmed himself down a bit. Apparently, he realised with a sense of disappointment, that Gabriel was also aware of this fact, as the archangel now chose to turn and face him.

Crowley wasn’t about to let him get the first word in, though, “You will not let them make him Fall” He hissed, finally pulling down the glasses to able to use the aforementioned practiced glare. Though it didn’t cause quite the reaction he’d hoped for.

“Aziraphale? Falling?” No, a loss of words wasn’t quite what Crowley was going for, but he couldn’t deny the entertainment factor of watching the stuck-up archangel spluttering, “Heaven would not make Aziraphale Fall, you petulant idiot, not if I have anything to say about it”

Crowley rolled his eyes, “Yes, because you always have his best interests at heart don’t you?” He grumbled, with maybe just a touch of petulance, “So if you’re not here to announce his Fall from Grace, what are you doing here? And why were you apologising?”

Gabriel seemed to go through a roller-coaster of mixed emotions in a manner of seconds, from ready to argue, to sheepish, to worried, before finally he settled on weary. Crowley, also, went on a roller-coaster of emotions. Though his only involved two emotions. From elated at the news that his angel wouldn’t be Falling on this day, to extremely concerned that Gabriel still looked weary at whatever news was to come. So it was more one of those sudden-drop roller-coasters, wherein their only purpose seemed to be how quickly they could send the contents of your stomach flying up through your throat.

“They’re taking my angelic powers”

They both nearly gave themselves whiplash in their rush to face the angel in the kitchen doorway, standing with his tray of teacups balanced on both hands, eyes planted firmly on the small bowl of sugar in the corner of it, as though it was the one that had asked the question.

“They’re what?!” Crowley resisted the urge to yell, he knew from the look on Aziraphale’s face that it wouldn’t do any good, “What would they do a thing like that for?”

The question was meant to be directed at Gabriel, but Crowley hadn’t bothered to look away from his angel and so caught the flinch that Aziraphale couldn’t seem to suppress. He wished he could take back the question if the reminder was going to cause Aziraphale any sort of discomfort, but because he’d been facing the angel at the time of asking, clearly Aziraphale felt that it was directed at him.

“You don’t need to tell him, Aziraphale” Gabriel tried to interject as Aziraphale set down his tray of teas,

“Yes, I do, he has every right to know why”

Gabriel looked like he truly wished he could protest that statement, but he said nothing and watched as Aziraphale made his way over to the demon, taking Crowley’s hands into his own and leading them both to the nearby well-worn sofa next to the stairs. Crowley took a moment to enjoy the look of anger on the archangel’s face, before focusing all of his attention on his angel.

Aziraphale took a breath, “So, Heaven was a little bit… perturbed by my role in stopping the war,” He began, “Apparently, they see it as me ‘foiling Heaven’s great victory over Hell’.” The words were parroted. Most likely a sentence read from one of Heaven’s usually long-winded and always boring reports, probably given to Aziraphale by the other occupant of the small room and it made Crowley wanted to scoff at Heaven’s assumption that had there been a war, their victory was inevitable.

Crowley didn’t want to ask the next question, but he also really wanted to know the answer, and so with a softness that surprised even him, it followed, “So, why are they not making you Fall, angel?”

Aziraphale picked at the skin of his otherwise flawless fingers, marring the manicure that he’d always been so meticulous with, “Because I didn’t choose the opposite side.” He said, a false sort of lightness coating his words, “I presume that, perhaps, someone Up There did want me to Fall. Someone Up There always wants me to Fall, I think. But Gabriel argued a case for me” He paused to offer a smile of gratitude towards the archangel, and even Crowley felt grateful for the other, though he would never admit it even in the face of Hell’s most imaginative tortures. “He reasoned that, though I chose not to fight with Heaven, I also chose not to fight against Heaven and instead performed my duties as a Principality of Earth”

“I hoped that would be the end of it, though” Gabriel offered, in a tone that was sincerer than Crowley usually heard from him.

“Heaven still decided that I was to be punished, and this is what they settled on” Aziraphale trailed off, the reality of the situation dawning on him slowly if the fearful look in his eyes was any indication. They sat in silence for a moment, the tea left forgotten on the side table, before Aziraphale shook his head, cleared his throat and got to his feet.

“I can’t put it off anymore, Gabriel, we might as well just get it over and done with” He announced, briefly shocking both the archangel and the demon with his suddenness.

Gabriel recovered first and nodded briskly. He knew Aziraphale’s moment of bravery regarding the situation would be short-lived and he couldn’t just _not_ do it. Crowley, too, got to his feet, staying off to one side, double checking that the wards surrounding the shop would keep prying human eyes from seeing the proceedings and mentally preparing himself for any number of possibilities.

“Please, Aziraphale, forgive me for this” Gabriel spoke quietly, positioning Aziraphale into the centre of the room before taking his hands into a tight grasp. Enochian words were spoken and Crowley could barely look as angelic magic flowed from Aziraphale and dissipated into the air above. He could, however, hear the scream that suddenly sounded from his angel, inhuman and desperate and deafening. The sort of sound that he never wanted to hear from Aziraphale and he forced himself to look at the blinding light to see what was happening. He almost wished he hadn’t.

Aziraphale was barely able to stand on his own two feet, his mouth opened in a now-silent scream. His beautiful white wings had, at some point, burst forth and Crowley could see them shriveling before his eyes. He forced the bile back and wondered, not for the first time, why Heaven thought they were so much more Good in comparison to Hell. The angel’s chest heaved with the pain and Crowley could see the glittering tears as they rolled down his cheeks, hands clenched tightly in the archangel’s own as it seemed to be only Gabriel’s own strength keeping him from crumpling to the ground.

Finally, it all stopped, the room fell into silence and after a brief second of processing what had just happening, Crowley rushed forward to catch his angel before he fell backwards onto the hardwood floor below.

Almost immediately, the angel in his arms was out cold, still as death and Crowley panicked for a moment, absentmindedly checking that it was still the three of them in the bookshop, before focusing his gaze down. He pushed the sweat-drenched blonde curls away from the other’s face, taking in the face of the one he loved more than anything, still scrunched up in pain and wet with tears and held him as tight as he dared.

“It is done”

He jolted his head up to look at the archangel, still stood in the same position. The words were uttered in almost a state of shock.

“Tell me,” Crowley muttered as loudly as he could while still certain that he wouldn’t disturb Aziraphale, “What exactly have you done to him? Is he completely mortal now?”

Gabriel shook his head as he came back to himself, though his gaze remained on the angel in Crowley’s arms, rather than on Crowley himself, “He still retains his immortality and his empathic abilities. He also has a much higher immunity to human diseases than mortal’s naturally do. Though he is not completely immune as angels and demons are.”

Crowley nodded, filing the information away, “And what has he lost, exactly?”

Gabriel sighed, “I’m sure you could see, his wings have been taken, as has his healing powers both for himself and others, his powers of possession, his power and control over White Light and Holy Fire…”

“Wait, hold on a second,” Crowley interrupted, “He’s kept his empathic abilities, so he can sense when people are hurting and in pain, and yet he can’t do anything about it? He can’t help anyone in an angelic sense?”

The archangel looked down and nodded, “I’m afraid so”

“I’m sure you’re aware that’s going to feel like torture” Aziraphale may have been self-centred for an angel, and he may have preferred to live a relatively isolated existence so that he didn’t have to find people in pain or hurting or distressed. Over 6000 years living in a world that was so hell-bent on destroying itself and everything around it had somewhat jaded the angel. But he still liked to help if the occasion called for it.

Gabriel looked once more at the prone figure lying in the demon’s arms, then took a long shaky inhale, “Please take care of him, Crowley.” The aforementioned demon was somewhat surprised at the other’s use of his actual chosen name, but thought it best not to comment, “The ritual will have left him tired and weak. I would stay myself, but the Metatron requires a report on the proceedings and I would rather not do that here.”

Gabriel took a step towards Aziraphale and Crowley had to resist the urge to hiss at the archangel when he knelt down and place a kiss on Aziraphale’s forehead. Almost instantly the tight lines of his face smoothed out and the angel looked like he was simply in the middle of a peaceful slumber. Crowley felt little tendrils of envy course through his form at the knowledge that celestial feats of comfort, such as the one that Gabriel had just performed, were beyond his own powers. Demons weren’t exactly designed to be comforting, and so Crowley was forced to use more human methods himself.

“I will be keeping an eye on him,” Gabriel said, and Crowley was uncertain whether it was supposed to be taken as a comfort or a threat, “The punishment is not permanent.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow, “So how long will he be like this?”

“That is up to him,” Gabriel answered, “He needs to prove himself to Heaven. _He_ needs to be certain that Aziraphale is either of Heaven or against Heaven.”

Crowley sighed. He should have guessed really. The only way for Aziraphale to correct this, was for him to stop being the Aziraphale he’d come to love over the past 6000 or so years, and to go back to being the Aziraphale who followed Heaven’s every order without question.

Right now, however, he didn’t want to think about that possible outcome. He needed to focus his efforts on making the Aziraphale in his arms was comfortable and safe and as happy as Crowley could make him.

“I’ll visit him as soon as I’m able” Gabriel announced as a final goodbye before leaving the shop and disappearing back to Heaven.

Crowley gave it a few seconds and then proceeded to carry the unconscious angel up the spiral staircase to the rarely used bedroom, hidden from the sight of the general public. The room, like most of Aziraphale’s bookshop, was covered in various rare books and artefacts from multiple time periods and multiple continents. If this room were to be discovered by someone, Crowley could only imagine how many museums and art dealers would be knocking down Aziraphale’s door. In Aziraphale’s mind, his collection was nothing more than little knick-knacks and small treasures that he’d seen throughout the years and taken a liking to. Not dissimilar to an English tourist purchasing a souvenir from a market stall in Italy or Spain and then allowing it to collect dust on a corner shelf somewhere.

It was a room that was cramped, and dusty, and bedsheets so musty that Crowley couldn’t help but materialise some fresh ones to replace them because there was no way in Heaven or Hell that he was going to tuck Aziraphale up in something so potentially unhygienic. Once he was satisfied with the angel’s sleeping premises, he managed to change Aziraphale into some clothes that were much more suitable for an extended nap and then, keeping a tight hold on the other’s form, he tucked them both under the covers and hoped that they could both cope with this new change.

***

Unbeknownst to the couple in the bookshop bedroom, a prying pair of eyes had watched every moment of what had just happened in that bookshop. A pair of eyes attached to a face that grinned a gruesomely smug smirk at what they had just witnessed and wasted no time at all in reporting his findings to his superior.

“Belias, sir, you shall most pleased to hear my news” Hastur said, that same grin having never left his face since he returned to Hell, “I dare say, sir, that it is news I am sure Beelzebub herself will want to hear from your own mouth.”

He looked hopefully at the back of the demon’s office chair, waiting for a sign that Belias had listened. A half-smoked cigar burned eternally in an ashtray on the side of the large desk as the incessant, loud ticking of the wall clock filled the silence, along with the tapping of fingers against the chair arm from the demon himself.

Usually Belias was particularly uninterested in what Hastur had to say. Hell hadn’t yet made up its mind about whether Hastur or Crowley were more to blame for the monumental screw-up that had been the planned apocalypse, but at least Crowley had stayed away from his office. Hastur, on the other hand, hadn’t stopped grovelling at his feet. However, Belias reasoned to himself, this was the most confident the lower demon had seemed about anything he’d had to tell Belias previously, and to suggest that Beelzebub could be interested,

“Go on?”

The grin widened, “Heaven has acted before us,” Hastur began,

“And this is supposed to please me, how exactly?”

“They have enacted punishment on one of their own; the Principality who helped stopped the Apocalypse with Crowley. Though, perhaps it can no longer be called that.”

Belias turned his chair to face the lower demon. He, of course, knew of the angel Hastur spoke of, though not with any great detail other than his role in the Apocalypse-that-never-was and his close relationship with Hell’s own creator of Sin, Crowley. Yes, Belias thought, Crowley had shown great promise as a servant of Satan before he’d met that ridiculous angel.

“Do tell me, Hastur, what punishment did Heaven decide to dish out this time?”

“This is the part you’ll like,” Hastur gloated, “they’ve turned him nearly mortal”

Belias’ eyes widened briefly, and then they narrowed into small slits. “Well, now, isn’t that interesting.”


	2. A Difficult Transition

It felt like it took far longer to return to Heaven than it usually did for Gabriel. Like lead weights were being added to his feet with every step he took into the unfathomably large pristine building. Angels didn’t get tired. Archangels, especially, could remain strong and alert until the end of time and beyond, without need for inconsequential things like sleeping or eating. Gabriel, however, could almost imagine that he could feel the beginnings of what the humans would refer to as a migraine as he ran through the events of the morning. Which could explain why it took him a good few minutes to remember that he could simply teleport to his intended location

It was possible that the others could sense his loathsome mood, as he managed to make it to his ‘office’ without interruption, despite his unusual behaviour.

Bright, heavenly light filtered through the blind-less windows in the room he used to write reports. Heaven hadn’t always looked like this, and indeed, much of Heaven still looked like the paradise that some humans liked to imagine, with its eternal greenery and water clearer than earth could ever hope to replicate. It was, for lack of a better word, heavenly. But, just a few decades ago, it had come to His attention that human innovation had produced great buildings where large numbers of people could go and focus all of their attention on working for their superiors. And of course, He decided he quite liked that idea and so Heaven’s general layout had been altered and this is what they now had to live with. Heaven only had one of these great buildings. They all worked for one superior, after all.

Of course, Heaven wasn’t constricted by earthbound dimensions and regardless of how the outside looked, the inside was essentially its own dimension. Of course, for beings with the ability to teleport this wasn’t a problem. There wasn’t any protocol in place for angels that had been punished as Aziraphale had. No angel had ever been punished as Aziraphale had. Most would have been condemned to Fall with the accusations laid against the former Principality.

Gabriel turned from the window and sighed before slumping into his plush office chair, the contours of it forming to exactly where he needed the support. He materialised a large stack of paperwork on to his desk, rubbed his temples, and got to work.

The work was simple, monotonous, and boring. A full recount of what had transpired during the ritual, Aziraphale’s aura before and after the ritual, whether there’d been any resistance, the events leading up to and, in turn, making the ritual a requirement. Things that Gabriel didn’t really feel like reliving quite so soon.

Luckily for Gabriel, someone that wasn’t one of his own superiors, had heard his thoughts and within 10 minutes he heard a sharp knock at his door. With a thought the heavy wooden door dematerialised and the sight of who was on the other side brought a ghost of smile to Gabriel’s face.

“Sariel,” He greeted, “What are you doing knocking on my door? You know it would open for you” 

Doors in Heaven’s great building were designed to open to any angel of equal or superior standing to angel who owned the door. There were no secrets in Heaven.

“You looked… sad, Gabriel, I would not want to disturb you if disruption was not what you wanted,” the Seraphim explained, “I sensed your arrival and yet I could not get a clear grasp on your thoughts. They seemed… muddled.”

Sariel was one of Heaven’s best empaths. A being, whether mortal or otherworldly, need only step within a mile of her and she could read them like a book. Not that she would, as she told anyone who asked, she only read those who either needed help, or had evil intentions. A quick sweep of any given room, or even building, would tell her which was which.

She strode into the large office, the dark springy coils of her hair bouncing around her shoulders as she took a seat on the (newly miracled in against the side wall) sofa, where she fixed him with a kind, but focused, stare.  

“The punishment has been given then”

Gabriel winced, just slightly, before nodding. Sariel was very kind and very wise, it was why she was one of his most trusted confidante’s, but never let it be said that she wasn’t also very direct and candid. The smile she had been wearing as she walked in faded and was replaced with a frown,

“You knew it was going to hurt him, Gabriel.”

“Of course I knew,” He muttered, “That doesn’t make it any easier”

She patted the space next to her, frown having already softened out. Sometimes Gabriel wondered if she didn’t possess some sort of power of manipulation or influence, as he found himself getting up and walking to the sofa as he was prompted to. But, Gabriel reasoned, he already knew that that wasn’t the case and a potential counselling session from Sariel was a much more preferable use of his time, compared to finishing that report.

“It was not supposed to make it easier. Sometimes there are things we must do that are not easy, that will cause hurt.”

“Yes, things we _must_ do. This was not one of those things though, was it?” If he sounded slightly irritable, he thought that was probably better than sounding how he truly felt. Sariel didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of that. “He was doing his job. They’d already demoted him to Principality in the first place. He should have never been sent back to Earth once Eden was lost.”

Sariel laid a hand gently upon Gabriel’s own, “You know as well as I do, he had his own part to play in the fall of Eden. Just as he had his own part to play in the averted Apocalypse. I am against his punishment, you know this, but you also know that the Ophanim were correct in that his reasoning to avert the Apocalypse was not entirely unselfish.”

Gabriel had no comeback. There were no more arguments to be made, especially when this discussion would make no impact on Aziraphale’s current situation.

“You’re right, I know, it’s just…”

“You’re scared for him. This much is obvious.” Sariel allowed him his hand back so that he could rest his head in both hands, then she gave him a few moments of contemplation. “He has protection on Earth though”

Gabriel was quick to send a glare her way. He didn’t need the reminder. It was frustrating enough as it was to leave the angel under the protection of a demon. The knowledge that said demon was now closer to Aziraphale than Gabriel had ever been, that the demon was going to be the first one to care for Aziraphale after he awakened, it caused a hard lump to form in his throat. He swallowed it down and cleared his throat,

“Yes I’m aware of that Sariel, thank you.” He announced, getting to his feet and making his way back to the desk, trying to make it clear to the Seraphim that he was ready to get back to work.

“Your feelings for him run clear within your aura, Gabriel” Sariel followed him and stopped in front of his desk, her dark eyes boring into his own, “The Ophanim could all see it, as clear and blinding as white light. It is why they made the decision that they did. They fear what his Falling would cause you to do.”

“A ridiculous notion, of course. My duty to Heaven is my first priority, regardless of my feelings…” A raised eyebrow from the Seraphim had the rebuttal trailing off and Gabriel sighed, “It’s of no matter anyway. The demon seems to have a claim on him and Aziraphale is showing no signs of resistance.” Much as he was loathe to admit it. Perhaps, once upon a time ago, Aziraphale had shown resistance. Perhaps if Gabriel had visited the other on Earth more often.

Contrary to popular belief, angels and celestial beings were not free from the trappings of desire, nor did they live solitary lives. Angels could form what were known as ‘soul-bonds’ with other celestial beings. It was, essentially, the celestial version of human marriage. The love an angel could feel towards another celestial being was entirely different to the all-round Love they felt towards all life on Earth.

Could Gabriel say that he wanted a soul-bond with Aziraphale? No. Not with full honesty at any rate. But what he could say, with absolute conviction, was that he truly desired the former Principality. And he knew that it was a desire that, if reciprocated, could cause him to want to pursue a soul-bond with the other.

Sariel hummed thoughtfully before straightening herself up, “That’s as may be, right at this moment in time. Aziraphale, however, has not yet formed a soul-bond with the demon. He knows, after all, the ramifications that would occur should he make that decision. Perhaps, when presented with a choice, Aziraphale’s feelings may change.”

It was not a lie. At least, not completely. It had been many millennia since Sariel had last interacted with Aziraphale. In fact, it was just after the loss of Eden, during the angel’s trial that saw him demoted from Cherubim down to Principality. She had been there to bear witness as an angel of equal standing, though truly she believed that all Seraphims and Archangels had been called to the trial as a warning. A sort of ‘Look what can happen if you break the rules’ type of warning.

Gabriel had argued for Aziraphale even then (though back then his name had been Aziraphael, the Ophanim had made the adjustment as an extra form of shame), and Sariel had felt, through the humiliation and fear, that spark of desire that the angel had had for the archangel.

“There has been no word from the Ophanim regarding Aziraphale’s punishment being lifted any time soon” Gabriel reminded the Seraphim, “But, thank you, for your kind words. I must finish this report though.”

Sariel acquiesced to the request, tipping her head in acknowledgement before making her way back to the rematerialized door. She was interrupted,

“Forgive me my rudeness. How is Casadrael?”

She paused and placed one hand on the wood, allowing the texture to ground her, the memories of her love flooded her,

“She is doing much better, thank you”

It had been a simple mission to smite some lower demons that had kicked up a fuss on Earth. They had killed a Principality already and were making their way through the angels’ territory; America. From what Sariel had been told, at least 50 mortal beings had already been killed and the natural destruction was vast by the time Casadrael and a small group comprised of Seraphim and Cherubim had been sent. The mission had, as a whole, gone well. The demons had been smote and nature could once again be left to flourish.

Unfortunately Casadrael had been struck with a tainted blade, designed to drain the wounded angel of Grace slowly, until the victim was turned mortal. It was luck for Casadrael that meant she had been with a group who could get her to Raphael quickly in order to begin the healing process before it caused too much damage. If she had been sent alone, Sariel shuddered to think of what the consequences would have been.

“I’m glad to hear it, please send her my regards,” Gabriel spoke softly, aware of the pain that the attack had cause Sariel. To see her soul’s other half in so much agony. The sight of it still haunted her thoughts. “I’ll visit, soon.”

Sariel nodded, “She would be pleased to see you. Though, let me inform her of Aziraphale’s predicament first. She was once quite close to him, and she doesn’t yet know of the decision that’s been made. I will call for you when the time is right.”

With one more final farewell, Sariel left the office and Gabriel was once again left alone with his thoughts and the half-finished report in front of him.

***

The antique clock on the far shelf struck 11pm. The almost silent chimes told Crowley that in roughly three minutes’ time, Big Ben would also be chiming to signal the passing hour. He counted down the seconds. And there it was, just on time.

Aziraphale always told him that he set all of his clocks slightly early, because he always hated to be late. Crowley had scoffed at that. Not because of the practice. He’d have been astounded if it had ever actually worked. As it was, Crowley didn’t think that Aziraphale had been on time to an appointment since clocks had been invented. It was one of the many things that endeared him to Crowley. Tardiness was such an un-angelic thing for an angel to be. But there was nothing quite so angelic-looking as a flustered Aziraphale, apologising profusely as he turned up ten minutes late to a lunch date, a red flush staining his cheeks and his bottom lip worried between his teeth.

It had been three days since the ritual. Three days see he’d last even seen his angel’s eyes open. He knew it would take a couple of days, at least, for Aziraphale to heal enough to regain consciousness. Three days though. Crowley was starting to worry, just a little bit.

He got up from the chair he’d claimed as his own and checked the cup on the bedside table. The tea had gone cold again. He threw the contents out of the small window, ignored the protesting ‘Hey!’ that sounded from below, and returned to the small kitchen to remake it. It would do Aziraphale good to have a nice hot cup of tea to wake up to after all.

He stood, leaning his body against the countertop as he waited for the kettle to boil. Yes, he could have heated it up instantly. In all honesty he could have heated up the brew he’d made earlier, but that would have deprived him of the satisfaction of throwing at some random passer-by. And waiting for the kettle to boil just gave him something to do. The familiar tick of the kettle’s switch sounded, and, ignoring the irritated knock on the door to the bookshop, he finished making the tea and made his way back upstairs.

Still no movement from the angel. Crowley sighed and slumped back into his chair. He reached out the took the angel’s hand into his own, curling his long fingers around the other’s plumper ones, his thumb running gently over the skin on the back of his hand.

“Come on, Zira,” He all but pleaded with the still form on the bed, “It’s not usually you who’s the sleepy one now is it?” No response, as expected. “I can’t pray, Zira, it’s… well you know… against the rules or something isn’t it? But if I could, I would ask for all of this to have never happened” A ridiculous thought, really. From what point would he want things to change. It’s not as though he still wanted the Apocalypse to happen. And he didn’t want Aziraphale to have been against him while Adam was stopping the Apocalypse. Their relationship had reached new heights since then. He didn’t want to lose that. Really, what he wanted right now, was just for Aziraphale to wake up. Then they could think about everything else. “You’re all I’ve got, angel. I mean, you’re all I’ve had for a long time now. We’ll work through this, won’t we? You and I, we’re a team aren’t we? At least I hope so. I know what Heaven wants. They want you back as you were over 6000 years ago, before we started our Arrangement. Before you even met me, I suppose. They probably think I tempted you, don’t they? At least they can blame me for that, even if it’s not true. I wish they’d blame me for it all, to be honest with you, then maybe they wouldn’t have…”

Then, very suddenly and with only minor rambling so far, Crowley spotted a slight fluttering of the angel’s eyelids. This fluttering was followed by a small moan, that could also have been a whimper, and then the fingers clasped inside his own twitched.

“Zira?” He breathed, a giddy sort of excitement welling up inside him. His answer was something that could most definitely be described as a whimper, or maybe this time it had upgraded to be a groan. But now the fingers were grasping tighter onto his own, so that was an improvement.

“ _Hurts_ ” Aziraphale’s voice was weak and cracking, and Crowley had to strain to make out what was said,

“I know, angel, I know it hurts,” He whispered back, “But can you open your eyes, for me?”

Slowly, painfully slowly in fact, Aziraphale blinked open those eyes that Crowley had missed over the past few days. They were glassy, and duller than he was used to, but still beautiful, and still very much Aziraphale’s. Crowley ran his free hand through the angel’s mussed up blonde curls, smoothing back a few of the loose ones that trailed across his forehead. He watched as those eyes glanced around the room. Aziraphale wasn’t used to waking up after a long sleep, he wasn’t really a fan of the practice and as he didn’t tend to need it, he chose not to do it. So for someone not used to falling asleep in general, waking up after being unconscious must have been an even more disorientating experience.

“There you are, angel,” Crowley smiled

Aziraphale blinked a couple more times in an attempt to clear his vision, “How long?”

“Only about three days”

“Three days!” His eyes flew open much wider now and body bolted upright, “But, that’s so long, the shop…?”

“Is fine, Zira” Crowley soothed, easing his angel back down onto newly materialised extra pillows, “Don’t worry about it, I’ve made sure that nobody’s been in”

Aziraphale tilted his head slightly, “You’ve been here, the whole time?”

Crowley frowned, as though the suggestion of otherwise pained him, “Angel, there’s no way in Heaven or Hell that I would leave you, not now or ever” He said it with such conviction that Aziraphale almost felt foolish for asking it in the first place. He wasn’t sure how to respond, so he pointed to the cup on the side table,

“Is that for me?”

Crowley grabbed it in the flash and presented it to Aziraphale with a flourish, as though it were precious gems as opposed to a lukewarm peppermint and lemon balm tea. Aziraphale finished it relatively quickly, hyperaware of Crowley’s eyes on him the entire time,

“My dear, I’m not going to discorporate in front of you”

Crowley shrugged, “Maybe not, but seeing you like that…” He trailed off, cleared his throat awkwardly, “Well, you know”

Aziraphale swallowed, the room falling into a tense silent as he played with the rim of the empty cup in his lap. He allowed the other a moment longer to stare before he had to say something again, “Crowley, would you be a dear and fetch me another one?” He asked, holding the empty teacup up with one hand, “Only this one was so nice…”

Crowley couldn’t get to his fast enough, “Certainly, angel,” He took the teacup and went to make his way back downstairs, and then hesitated, “Are you….”

“I’ll be okay for a few minutes, I’m sure,” Aziraphale said, “Please?”

And with a nod, the demon rushed down the spiral staircase for a second time that day. He just managed to get the water boiling in the kettle when he heard a loud thump from above. He knew he should have teleport down here to make the tea. How could he have been so stupid to leave the angel on his own.

In the blink of an eye he was back in the small bedroom, though Aziraphale wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Panic flooded through him until he heard the faint sound of sobs coming from the adjacent bathroom. Rushing through as gently as he could, he was momentarily shocked at the sight of the angel curled on the bathroom floor, the nightshirt that Crowley had put him in thrown into the corner. He could see the thick, red-raw lines on the angel’s back, identical in size and shape to the scarred lines just below them.

“Oh, angel” He whispered, startling the figure on the floor and making no hesitation to drop to his knees gather him up in his arms.

Aziraphale grasped on to Crowley’s shirt tightly, to the point that Crowley could feel the fabric stretch across his skin, “It really happened didn’t it? It wasn’t all some horrible nightmare? They’re truly gone” He sobbed against the other’s shoulder.

This is what Crowley has been expecting when Aziraphale first woke up, but apparently it had taken a little while for the memory of it all to return, “Shh, angel, it’s okay”

“It’s not okay!” Aziraphale pulled himself out of Crowley’s arms, his red-rimmed eyes glaring into Crowley’s yellow ones, sunglasses having been discarded hours ago, “How can this be okay?” He gestured at himself before his hands curled into tight fists around his own body, his fingernails making small indentations in the skin he gripped on to. Crowley stayed quiet, fearing that saying anything else might make an already precarious situation worse. Instead he gently unclasped the other’s fingers, allowing the hands to fall limp into the angel’s lap before covering them with his own.

They must have sat there for at least 10 minutes. A silence lingered between them as Aziraphale took his time to regain his composure. Demons, unlike angels, didn’t have a keen sense of awareness for feelings of love or hope or faith. Demons, instead, could sense where pain and despair were rife and most demons drunk it in like a fresh glass of lemonade on a sweltering summer’s day. Crowley could usually feel the appeal, though he didn’t crave it like his brethren, but right now he wished that ability could be taken from him. He could feel the waves of despair rolling off Aziraphale like a typhoon and each one was like a punch to the gut.

“I remember the first set they took from me,” Aziraphale’s voice, small and soft, broke through the silence of the room, “The pain, back then, was intense as I recall. In fact, it was like a torture. I had never felt pain like it before,” He took a deep, shuddering breath, “It was nothing compared to this.”

Uncertain as to whether Aziraphale was talking to him, or just talking to free his mind of thoughts, Crowley cleared his throat and got to his feet, holding his hands out to Aziraphale who looked up, confusion evident upon his face, “Come on, Zira, let’s get you cleaned up and into a fresh set of clothes. Might make you feel, maybe just a little bit better?”

The angel hesitated for a beat, before nodding and placing his hands delicately into Crowley’s. Getting back onto his feet and into the bedroom involved plenty of wincing and lots of leaning on Crowley for support, but together they made it back to the bed and, with a small groan, Aziraphale was perched on the edge of the mattress. He obliged to allowing Crowley a closer inspection of the wounds where his wings had once been and Crowley had to hold back his curses to Heaven.

Apparently, when it came to the removal of an angel’s wings, it seemed to be the one area where Heaven chose to not execute their usually meticulous level of neatness. The wounds, though scarred over, were jagged and the skin surrounding the scar tissue looked to be burnt,

“Angel, do you want me to do anything? Heal this, maybe?” Healing wasn’t necessarily one of Crowley’s strengths. Sure he could bring something back to life. Demons were supposed to use that ability to continue whatever form of torture they were inflicting on a body, should said body perish during the aforementioned torture. That was the idea, at least. But demons had no real reason to heal, that was a far more angelic trait. For Aziraphale, though, he could give it his best attempt.

Aziraphale, however, shook his head, “No, it’s a kind thought, my dear, but I expect the pain is part of my punishment. My ability to heal has been taken, so I assume they don’t want me to heal myself.” He sounded resigned to it and Crowley hated it.

“Okay, so I won’t use any healing abilities on you,” He began, attempting a different approach, “But, how about I get some Aloe Vera for it? I’m sure they won’t have anything to say about some natural human remedies”

The angel looked round, a surprisingly hopefully look in his eyes, “No, I don’t suppose they would. Do you think it would help?”

Crowley shrugged, “It’s worth a go, right?”

One full tube of Aloe Vera gel (materialised from a nearby Holland & Barrett where a very confused stock-checker will be wondering why someone broke in so sneakily for one tube of own brand Aloe Vera gel), and lots of expletives hissed through clenched teeth from Aziraphale and apologising from Crowley later, saw both the demon and the angel lying back on the bed, a bandage now wrapped carefully around most of Aziraphale’s torso. Crowley may have gone a bit overboard with the bandage.

They hadn’t got round to finding a fresh top for Aziraphale to put on. After the application of gel he had, very politely, implied that if Crowley went anywhere near his back with anymore fabric he was going to, very gently, shove said piece of fabric in a place where the sun doesn’t shine. Crowley thought it best not to argue and so he now found himself with physically, but not mentally, exhausted angel curled up against the side of his body, his back facing the cool air of the room and his head resting heavily on the demon’s chest while his fingers absentmindedly fiddled with the folds in the fabric of Crowley’s shirt. Crowley couldn’t really find it in him to complain about his current situation, he decided as he carded his fingers through the angel’s curls.

“Do you suppose I’ll ever return to normal?”

Crowley paused, his hand stilling in Aziraphale’s hair.

_Aziraphale didn’t know._

He hadn’t been told how he was to regain his celestial powers.

Of course, the good thing to do here would be to inform his angel straightaway. Tell him that all he had to do was prove himself to Him. Whatever proving yourself as an angel meant. That would have been the right thing to do.

Crowley, however, wasn’t a demon for nothing. He might well have sauntered down to Hell of his own volition, but he’d always been a selfish bastard. Even as an angel. He suspected that, even if he hadn’t gone willing, it wouldn’t have taken long for Heaven to cast him out. And so, because of this innate character of his, his reply to Aziraphale comprised of a loose shrug and, “I’m not sure, angel.”

Aziraphale hummed, as though the answer hadn’t really surprised him, “Do I….” A pause and Crowley could imagine the angel chewing on his bottom lip with the manner of someone who didn’t really know whether they wanted to ask the question on their mind, “Do I look different, to you?”

“Not especially,” He said, lightly, navigating the conversation carefully, “Your aura is, perhaps, a little weaker,” A white lie, Aziraphale’s aura, while still definitely _him,_ had been greatly weakened, “But physically, you don’t look any different. You know… apart from the…” His free hand gestured weakly to Aziraphale’s back, not wanting to say what they both knew had changed, “Do you feel differently?”

Aziraphale nodded against Crowley’s chest, “I don’t feel… whole, anymore,” He whispered, “it’s like I know how I’m supposed to feel, I know what I’m supposed to be capable of… But it feels as though half of me is locked inside a cage and I don’t know where the key is.” He curled his body closer into Crowley’s, “I don’t know how I’m supposed to go on as normal”

Crowley sighed and pressed his lips against the crown of Aziraphale’s head, “I’m afraid I can’t give you much guidance, angel, but, I can assure you that I’m going to help you through it,” and if there was any promise that the demon would be sticking to, it was going to be that one, “We’ll get through it together, yeah? You and I against all of them, just as it’s always been” He’d said something during the almost-Apocalypse and it was as true now as it had been then. And though Aziraphale didn’t reply, Crowley could feel his body relax further into his own, and that was good enough for the time being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I know that Gabriel is probably going to be very OOC when the show comes out. But this is my version of him based purely on [that one cast photo](https://66.media.tumblr.com/2ee38616023222ea2cc9630c5f3564de/tumblr_ppn2a59DDh1qcpciyo1_1280.jpg)  
> One single cast photo and this is what happens.
> 
> Also in case it wasn't obvious. I'm not basing angel hierarchy on Christianity alone. I am taking bits and pieces from various religions with an angel hierarchy. If anyone wants a more detailed explanation [just ask!](https://casenumber825.tumblr.com/)


	3. A Curious Encounter

“So, you’re trying to tell me that Heaven has inflicted near-mortality as a punishment on one of their own?”

A bark of laughter reverberated against the stone walls of Beelzebub’s chambers. Or office. Belias had never really know for certain what she’d wanted the room to resemble. The eternally aflame fire pit right in front of her desk was a nice touch though, if a bit ‘cartoonish’ for his own personal tastes. Not that he’d ever say that to her though.

“Exactly! I’m telling you that there is an angel on Earth, right now, who is utterly defenceless”

Beelzebub moved round her desk to sit just on the corner of it, closer to Belias, who had to resist the urge to flinch away. She’d been in a particularly foul mood ever since the Apocalypse had been averted. Even the large numbers of wicked mortal souls that had been collected by her sector, far more souls than any other sector of Hell, had not lifted her spirits.

“Not that a defenceless angel isn’t something to be overjoyed about,” She trilled, “But is there a reason you’ve come to me, personally, to inform me of its existence, instead of just killing it and reporting back?”

This was the part Belias had been waiting for, a grin revealing yellowed teeth filed in to sharp points split across his face, “I believe you have a special history with this one, my great.” He paused for effect, receiving a raised eyebrow for a reply, “It’s the angel that tried to stop the Apocalypse.”

She sneered at the reminder. And then the information began to sink in and that sneer began to change into a grin that matched Belias’ own., “Oh, I see, Crawly’s angel”

“I believe it’s Crowley now.” It had been for a number of millennia, but he thought it best to not go into detail.

She waved her hand in dismissal, her thoughts clearly already preoccupied elsewhere as she hopped off the desk and moved to the corner of the room, a second wave of the hand materialised a large wooden door that opened as she walked towards it, the creak of the hinges echoing loudly through the room. Belias took that as his cue to follow her.

“That angel nearly made a fool out of me,” She continued as she breezed through the newly opened up room. Belias’ eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets. He had seen torture chambers before. He was closely familiar with some of Hell’s finest torture establishments. Olivier had done fine work in perfecting the tools that would inflict the most brutality on a body. Belias had heard good things regarding his recent experimentations with a device that would torture just the soul of a person, without causing harm to the body. All the better for extending the amount of time a person could be tortured for; destroy first the mind, then the soul, and then finally the body shall perish.

So, yes, Belias had intimate knowledge of what he had always thought were best of the best in torture devices. Apparently he had been mistaken. With his first step into the room he was nearly suffocated with the stench of otherworldly darkness. A darkness he could feel seeping into his very essence. At first glance it looked like any other assortment of torture devices, but it was the _feel_ of them that almost floored him.

“You know the Apocalypse was supposed to be my big moment.” She didn’t whinge. Demons of her standing weren’t capable of whinging. “After that wretched serpent gave Lucifer the credit for the whole apple thing, he’s now the darkest of the dark in Satan's eyes, the most unholy, incapable of doing Good.” She ran a pointed fingernail across a pair of shackles hanging on the nearby wall. “Never mind that my sector regularly brings in the most wicked of new demons. Who even cares that Hell’s army is growing at rates never seen before any way?” Her glare turned to Belias, who would never admit to the flinch that it produced, regardless of how obvious it had been, “You do know that’s why we’ve not been allowed to punish that snake before. Oh, certainly, he’s been on tender hooks. Everyone’s noticed that his ‘evil deeds’ are pitiful at best, and they have been ever since Eden. But he’s still Lucifer’s favourite.”

Belias was aware. Crowley had pretty much been given full reign to do as he pleased, so long he did the minimum amount of Evil. It was why no one had questioned the relationship he had with the angel, and why no one had dragged him, kicking and screaming if necessary, back to Hell to be ‘re-educated’. He’d been a thorn in all their sides for millennia.

Beelzebub grabbed a set of bindings.

“Perfect” She declared, presenting them to Belias, “We may not be able to touch Crawly ourselves, but Lucifer has granted no protection towards his angel pet.”

Belias nodded his understanding, reaching out the take hold of the bindings, examining them closely. There was a dark energy woven deep into the metalwork and he could feel it wind itself around his aura.

“These bindings,” Beelzebub explained, “Are specifically designed for angels. Not that we have much chance to capture an angel. An angel with all of its powers would smite one of us in an instant if we tried anything like that.”

She was quite correct in that regard. Belias had seen it happen on multiple occasions, usually with newly-turned human-stock demons who had nothing but ambition on the brain. They would find a lone angel somewhere and, if they were lucky, they might be able to get a hit in. Might even be able to kill a lower-tier angel if that was the goal. But the instant they did, the wrath of Heaven would befall them. There usually wasn’t much left of the ambitious demon after that happened.

“I had these designed and created for the war,” She continued, “After Hell won, obviously, there would be numerous prone angels just ripe for the Falling. Of course, the war never happened so I haven’t been able to test any of this out” The sigh that followed was one of drama and melancholy. “However, with your wonderful news… a nearly-mortal angel would be the perfect test subject. If it can’t smite the demon that goes to capture it, Heaven will not be alerted to any problems. Once it’s here, Heaven won’t be able to locate it, if they even cared enough to try.”

“And what about Crowley, my great?”

Beelzebub scoffed, “He might be a terrible demon, but he’s not a stupid one. He knows that he will have no leg to stand on should Lucifer find out he’s tried to rescue an angel from Hell. It doesn’t matter what he thinks he feels for it, he’s much too selfish to risk his own neck like that.” She grinned again, “I want that angel broken, tortured beyond its wildest imaginations. I want it at the very edge of perishing and then I want it to curse at Him. We haven’t had a Fallen angel in such a long time.”

***

It had been such a long time since Crowley had woken up feeling groggy. Maybe that was what three days of non-stop worrying did to a body. Or maybe it was because he’d woken up and it was dark outside, whereas normally he preferred to wake up in the daylight hours. Or, and this was a bit of an afterthought, maybe it was because there still a weight on his chest and two luminous blue eyes watching him through the darkness. A quick blink of his eyes and the nearby table lamp switched on.

“Angel?”

The being in question startled slightly, as though he hadn’t even realised the figure he’d watching was awake. An obvious blush rose high on his full cheeks and he dropped his gaze down, fingers suddenly preoccupied with picking at a loose bit of thread on Crowley’s shirt.

“Everything okay?”

The blush grew in intensity, “Oh yes, yes everything is fine, thank you”

“Trouble sleeping?” Crowley pressed, gently,

Aziraphale did looked at him this time, an eyebrow delicately raised high on his forehead, “My dear, I’ve spent three days sleeping.” He still wasn’t over it. Three days was far too long of an amount of time for an angel to sleep for. Regardless of how demoted an angel he currently was. “It might be a while before I want to do that again” He muttered,

“Oh, I don’t know, Zira,” Crowley replied, “Perhaps if you tried it willingly next time?” It was a poor attempt at a light-hearted joke, but still, Crowley had expected somewhat more than a loose shrug and a curious look at his face, “Angel, are you sure-”

He was suddenly extremely glad for the quick reflexes he naturally possessed that allowed him to maintain his balance when his arms were suddenly full of the angel. He hadn’t quite been expecting the answer to a quick quip about sleeping to be Aziraphale desperately pressing their lips together. There was no real finesse to it either. Usually when Aziraphale initiated a kiss it was very gentle, slow and a bit methodical, as though Crowley’s lips were a fine desert. Now, however, his primary goal seemed to be whether he could bruise both of their mouths with the force he was putting behind it. Crowley decided to re-take the lead a bit, softening more on his part until Aziraphale followed suit. Their lips now moving languidly against each other as Aziraphale allowed his body to relax even further. Crowley was just about to deepen the kiss further still when the angel pulled back,

“It feels different”

“Huh?”

Aziraphale’s brows were furrowed slightly and Crowley was beginning to get a little bit worried. Was it a good different, a bad different? A different that was so different that Aziraphale might not want to do it anymore? Crowley didn’t think he could cope with that sort of different. They hadn’t been exploring this new physical side of their relationship for that long, he wasn’t ready to give it up now.

“It’s strange. Not bad,” the angel was quick to reassure, “it’s like... like I’m more grounded to this form now. To my corporeal form, that is. It all feels… more.”

‘More?’ Well, ‘more’ apparently wasn’t bad if Aziraphale was to be believed. Crowley could work with ‘more’. Whatever ‘more’ meant to Aziraphale.

“More, eh?” Crowley replied, snaking a hand around the back of Aziraphale’s neck, fingers playing the soft curls he found at the nape there as he leaned closer, lips just whispering against Aziraphale’s cheek, nipping gently at the skin there,

“That’s… that’s not everything,” The angel said, though the words were nearly lost in a whimper, the blush that had been gracing his cheeks down travelling all the way down his neck and chest, disappearing underneath the bandage as the demon travelled down to mouth at the juncture between his jawline and his neck,

“Mmm, are you Making An Effort? Because I know I am.” Crowley’s voice was a low rumble against Aziraphale’s skin, hips pressed against the others to show just how much of an effort he was making and the angel did allow a soft moan to escape his lips at that. But Crowley felt hands pushing delicately against his chest and, with a great amount of willpower on his part, he pulled back fully to meet Aziraphale’s eyes, brows furrowed in concern. He let Aziraphale sit all the way up into a cross-legged position before he pressed, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just…”

“It’s too soon, after everything, isn’t it?” Crowley could’ve smacked himself for being so thoughtless.

“No! No, it’s not that, I just…” Okay, Crowley could take back the mental smack he had previously given himself. But, still…

“Come on, angel, you’re scaring me a bit here.”

Aziraphale looked concerned himself, and perhaps just a little bit flustered, “I seem to be Making An Effort”

Now Crowley just looked confused, “Well, yes, I did just ask if you were,” He said slowly, just in case the ritual had left his angel a bit addled in the brain department, “I just told you I was as well, after all” He had thought that his reply had been quite logical. Making An Effort was a normal part of their more amorous bedroom activities. However, from the way Aziraphale was now looking at him, he was beginning to think that he was the one being stupid,

“Yes, I’m aware of that, thank you,” the angel huffed, “The point I’m _trying_ to make is that, while, yes I am currently Making An Effort, I’m not making an effort. It’s just there.”

Crowley’s eyes widened just a fraction as he couldn’t help but glance down Aziraphale’s body “So you’re…” He could understand the angel’s frustration. Human genitals were cumbersome things when not being used for pleasure.

“I don’t have any control over it” He whined, “It’s not even my preferred arrangement”

He couldn’t help but think that the angel looked just a touch adorable like this, with his lips pouted and his brows furrowed, arms folded across his chest and looking very put out by it all.

Crowley also couldn’t help but think that maybe he might have had some part to play in Aziraphale’s current predicament. Obviously most of it was Heaven’s fault. Clearly when they were deciding which of Aziraphale’s abilities to take away, the power to manipulate his own corporeal form fell into the (rather large) ‘take away’ pile. The demon did distinctly remember though, the last time Aziraphale had Made An Effort (which had been a mere two days before the ritual), Crowley had convinced him to try it the ‘Biblical Way’ as some humans laughingly referred to it, as though He cared at all about how humans were fucking each other. As the angel’s preferred position in their lovemaking tended to be on the receiving side, that meant that he’d required female genitalia.

As Crowley remembered it, Aziraphale had quite enjoyed himself. He’d quite enjoyed himself really quite loudly in fact. But that must have meant that when they took his abilities away, his corporeal form defaulted to the last time he’d Made An Effort.

“Oh, angel,” Crowley soothed, “Look at this way, you could have nothing at all. That would make things very difficult.”

Aziraphale fixed him with a look for all of ten seconds before he let his arms drop back down to his sides.

“That’s not really the point” He admonished, before releasing a low sigh, “But, I suppose you’re right,” he conceded, “I do rather enjoy our more intimate times. It would have been a shame to stop.” He looked somewhat forlorn again, “Oh, my dear, I’m afraid I’ve quite ruined the mood, haven’t I?”

Crowley shrugged in the universal gesture of ‘nevermind that’ and glanced out of the window, “The sun’s coming up anyway,” He indicated to the angel, “How about we finally get out of this bed, get ourselves both all cleaned up and into some more acceptable clothes, and we’ll have a bite to eat at that café down the road where they give you the extra clotted cream in your scone?”

Aziraphale’s face lit just a touch. Just enough to let Crowley know that what he’d offered was met with pleasure, even as Aziraphale replied with, “But, I thought you hated that place?”

He was right. Crowley did hate that place. Not because the food was poor, or the coffee was too cold, or the place was dirty, or any of the usual things that would make a person dislike a café. No, what Crowley hated was the looks that Aziraphale received from the irritatingly charming Frenchmen behind the counter. The appraising eyes that looked his angel up and down as he made his order. The hand on the upper part of Aziraphale’s arm that lingered just that bit too long to be just friendly when his order was brought over to the table. The silky smooth voice that used words like _mon cher_ when referring to his angel. The way those same appraising eyes would turn hard when they fell upon Crowley and that voice that had been so smooth would bite out a ‘sir’ when directed at the demon.

So, yes, Crowley did hate that place really quite a lot. But Aziraphale really did like it, and he really did enjoy the scones with the extra clotted cream, and Crowley really did enjoy seeing Aziraphale’s face contort with pleasure as he indulged in one of those tiny sins that he was certain caused someone Up There to tick a black mark against his name. 

And with that thought in mind, he got out the bed, put his clothes back into acceptable order with a thought, and extended a hand to Aziraphale with a flourish, “But you love it, my angel,” He announced, smiling at the very Aziraphale-esque roll of the eyes that he received despite the warm hand that accepted his help exiting the bed, “So I am willing to suffer for you” He finished, mirth evident in his words even though he spoke the truth.

***

Crowley was starting to regret his willingness to suffer.

No, scratch that, Crowley had begun to regret his willingness to suffer from the moment they’d first walked into the café and he’d felt the waves of combined lust and jealousy from the behind the counter.

“Zira! _Mon Cher_!” Were the words that had greeted them as they entered, followed closely by,

“Matthias, dear, how have you been?” And Crowley had to school the glare away from his face. Why did his angel have to be so nice to everyone that was nice to him? Especially when said niceness was so obviously laced with ulterior motives.

“Je vais bien, merci,” came the answer, “But yourself? We ‘ave not seen you in a while.” Crowley had to roll his eyes, Aziraphale had only visited the café a couple days before the ritual.

Aziraphale shrugged slightly, “I’ve just a bit under the weather.”

An understatement to say the least, but even that had Matthias waving an assistant over so he could leave the cash register and steer Aziraphale to a nearby vacant table, which obviously involved that rage-inducing gentle touch on the angel’s arm because he clearly wasn’t capable of taking himself to a table. Rage-inducing for Crowley at least, Aziraphale was still smiling at the Frenchman.

“You ‘ave been ill, mon cher,” he explained as Aziraphale took a seat, Crowley following along behind despite not having been acknowledged once since the initial glance when they’d first walked in, “I will take your order right here.”

“You’re too kind, Matthias, truly,” the angel said, “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve such special treatment”

“Absurdité,” Matthias dismissed, “this is no special treatment for my favourite customer.”

Crowley held in his scoff, his arms folded tightly across his chest as he watched his angel smile affectionately at the human. If he wasn’t so irritated he might have felt sorry for the young man. He knew that all Aziraphale’s affection stemmed from the generic Love that all angel’s felt for living creatures. His angel saw this human the same way an adult human would look upon a particularly kind and polite child.

Crowley was irritated though and, as such, he was focusing most of his attention on glaring into the back of Matthias’ head. So much so, apparently, that he didn’t hear Aziraphale calling his name until the Frenchman turned around the return the glare.

“I apologise,” he tuned back in to Aziraphale speaking to Matthias, “My partner isn’t usually so distracted.”

And, _ouch_ , Crowley thought. Aziraphale didn’t need to emphasis his point with quite so hard with a well-executed kick underneath the table. Especially when it caused such a smug smirk to appear on the human’s face.

“I’m sorry, angel, I can’t help that you’re so distracting,” Crowley replied, enjoying the way that smirk was wiped clean at the way Aziraphale smiled and blushed, “What was it that you were saying?”

“You’re order, darling?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Crowley looked up with a grin at the human, all hints of affection vanished when his attention had moved to the demon, “Coffee. Lots of milk and sugar. Cheers.”

With a reluctant “Of course, sir” and a tender smile aimed at Aziraphale, the angel and the demon were finally left alone.

“You needn’t have been so ghastly rude”

Crowley placed a hand to his own chest, “Me?” He exclaimed, “I don’t think it’s me you need to scold, angel.”

Aziraphale raised one eyebrow, “You mean Matthias?” Crowley nodded and Aziraphale rolled his eyes in return, “Don’t be ridiculous, he’s just being nice”

“To you, maybe”

Crowley was surprised when Aziraphale made no comeback. In fact, his face had taken on a distinctly redder shade and his lips had pursed tightly together. All-in-all he was portraying the look of one very guilty angel.

“You’re doing it on purpose aren’t you?” Silence again and Crowley had to let out a bark of laughter. “Sneaky little angel, using your wiles to garner special favours.” Crowley was almost proud. Would be even prouder if he hadn’t spent the last year or so drilling holes into the back of some poor smitten human with his eyes.

“It’s not ‘special favours’,” Aziraphale argued, “It’s just… a bit of extra cream… or a muffin… the occasional croissant…” And so he continued to reel of the list of free sweet treats he’d received as a result of the Frenchman’s infatuation.

Crowley shook his head in delight, not really even caring now when their order arrived and Matthias’ hand lingered on Aziraphale’s upper back with a “Voilà, enjoy your food”

And so the angel did. As he always did when he came here. Crowley always wondered how Aziraphale could eat with what looked like so much enthusiasm and yet retained the neatness and poise of an eighteenth century governess. Who even ate scones with a knife and fork? Aziraphale, apparently, Crowley thought as he leant his chin on his hand and smiled up at his indulgent, prim and proper angel. 

So caught up, was Crowley, in watching Aziraphale enjoy his food, that he almost didn’t notice the lone figure in the corner of the café. He wasn’t sure how he’d missed her when they’d first stepped through the door. He wasn’t entirely sure how Aziraphale had missed her either, though he suspected that his demotion had resulted in a reduction in his ability to sense things that were Not Good.

There she was, ghostly pale and slumped in the chair. Much like Crowley, she wore a pair of sunglasses to mask her eyes, though sunglasses wouldn’t do much to disguise her aura. She was low-level, Crowley could tell that much instantly, possibly newly-turned, but she could equally have been just be not very ambitious. Her corporeal form suggested that she was somewhat used to being on Earth, though perhaps she didn’t choose to frequent it. Her movements were twitchy, even more so when she noticed Crowley looking at her, and her clothing and hair were both tatty and unkempt. But she didn’t have any insects crawling on her and her face looked relatively free of boils. So she wasn’t doing a completely horrendous job of being inconspicuous.

The fact that she happened to be here at all, however, was a concern. And not just being here, but being here and watching them. And even more than that, Crowley clocked the fact that most of her attention had appeared to be on the angel until Crowley had noticed her.

A cold sense of panic washed over the demon and he gently placed his fingers on Aziraphale’s arm, “Angel,” He muttered, attempting to relay the sense of urgency he felt while maintaining the façade that they were just a couple having a relaxing brunch together, “Perhaps we ought to ask your friend whether he might wrap this up to-go?”

Aziraphale furrowed his brows, “Crowley?”

Excellent, the angel had caught on to the urgency part. Hopefully their new demon friend hadn’t. She’d turned away from them slightly now, seemingly gazing into thin air, and Crowley took the opportunity to murmur to Aziraphale, “We appear to be being watched” and nodded subtly in her general direction.

Aziraphale didn’t need to look. He trusted the sudden seriousness that had encompassed his demon and instead turned his gaze on Matthias, signalling for the man to come over. Which he did, with almost a skip in his step.

“Mon cher?”

Aziraphale smiled that disarmingly charming smile of his, “I’m afraid, dear, that we aren’t going to be able to stay and enjoy your wonderful food,” Matthias looked like he wanted to protest, or blame Crowley, or just attempt something to get them to stay, “Much as we would love to, I’m afraid some rather urgent family business has just cropped up. It would, however, be ever so sweet of you if you would allow us to take this to-go? It’s just so lovely, I would hate to see it go to waste”

Crowley had to look down to suppress the laugh that was threatening to bubble up in spite of their newly tenuous circumstances. Did the angel really have to lay it on that thick? The human was puffing out his chest in pride so much that Crowley feared he might actually burst.

“Certainly, mon chéri”

‘Chéri’ Crowley frowned. That one was new. He almost voiced his protest, that maybe you shouldn’t refer to someone that so obviously is already in a relationship as ‘darling’, until Aziraphale fixed him with a warning look that made him hold his tongue.

A few short minutes later, and a quick glance over his shoulder, Crowley led the two of them back out of the café shop doors.

“Who was it?”

“Demon. Low-level maybe, but wasn’t close enough to get a good read.”

Aziraphale hummed, “Not just enjoying the food then?”

Crowley didn’t even need to say anything back to that. Most demons were not like himself. Most demons would not set foot in an establishment such as a cosy little café unless their motive was to wreak havoc or cause harm in some way. This unknown demon was doing neither of those things. This demon was just watching.

“Okay, well, I suppose it’s back to the shop then?”

Aziraphale looked a little bit put out by it all. He loved his bookshop. It was familiar and everything was exactly how he liked it. But even though he could sometimes spend years holed up in said bookshop, pouring over whatever mountain of new texts he’d happened upon, he didn’t like to feel as though he was trapped there.

“Just for the time being, angel,” Crowley replied, “Just until I figure out what that was all about”

“We” Aziraphale corrected, “Don’t think you’re doing any investigative work by yourself. We will figure out what’s going on. Together. ‘You and I, against all of them’ remember?”

Crowley responded with a nod, though not with any great conviction. Yes, he remembered. He’d only said it the night before, after all. But what he wouldn’t admit it to the angel, for fear that he would take it the wrong way, was that this encounter – however brief it might have been – had spooked Crowley. It was a sharp reminder that his angel was a great deal more vulnerable than he had been before and that there were forces in Hell that would happily see both him and Aziraphale destroyed. And Crowley wasn’t certain that they could defend themselves against such forces. He almost hoped that Gabriel was true to his word about keeping an eye on the angel.


	4. A Panicked Escape

It had been entirely too long since Crowley had last stepped foot in the tracking department in the lower echelons of Hell. So long, in fact, that he’d almost forgotten how mind-numbingly dull it all was. He would almost be at the point of dozing off through boredom, when the loud _thud_ of stamp to paper took him out of his own thoughts.

There weren’t any clocks. No way of knowing just how long he’d been sat in the hard plastic chair next to the infuriatingly queue-less counter. He wanted to complain. In fact, he was near-desperate to complain to just about anyone that might walk past. But this was Hell. In Hell there was no one to complain to. And even if you did find someone to complain to, you just knew that the being that you made the complaint about would be shortly receiving a commendation for a job well done.

He just hoped he could be safe in the knowledge that Aziraphale had heeded his advice to stay in the bookshop until he returned. It wasn’t easy telling an angel what they could and could not do. Angels, as a rule, usually only followed orders from their superiors (of which Crowley most certainly did not count) and Aziraphale wasn’t even very good at doing that. But, nevertheless, he’d left the angel with a smile and a promise to be back as soon as he could and Aziraphale seemed to have taken to the idea quite well. That was, however, nearly 72 hours ago.

“Mister Crawly” A voice called.

 _Finally._ He didn’t think he’d ever been so grateful to hear another demon’s voice since the day he’d Fallen.

“Ilrun!” He greeted, false cheerfulness lacing every syllable of every word, “How are things? Horrible as ever I hope?”

The demon in question didn’t look impressed. There weren’t many demons that looked particularly impressed when Crowley came calling. Well, apart from Lucifer. But at least Ilrun wasn’t openly hostile towards him,

“What do you want this time, Crawly?”

Crowley tsk’ed, “I thought that record had been changed millennia ago?”

“It has.”

Fair enough then. Now wasn’t the time to kick up a fuss. “Right, right. Ilrun, we’re kind of friends, aren’t we?”

The demon flashed black eyes towards him, “No”, and then looked back down at his paperwork.

Crowley sighed. He’d hoped this wasn’t going to be difficult, but the signs weren’t looking good. “Okay, yes, I suppose not.” He mentally ran through his list of options. The list wasn’t particularly long and most of the items on the list weren’t particularly good. He ended up going with the easiest. “Listen, Ilrun, I just need the tiniest of favours”

At this, Ilrun stopped writing on the paperwork in front of him and put the pen down slowly. A pointed tongue darted out to wet chapped lips and his arms folded across his chest. “Tiniest of favours is it, Crawly?” Then he leaned forward on to his elbows, “See, now I remember the last time you asked for a tiny favour. Do you remember what that got me?"

Crowley winced, he did remember. It had been after his nineteenth century sleep. He remembered running down to Ilrun and asking him, very politely if he did say so himself, to inform anyone who asked that he had been very busy coming up with a particularly evil and very imaginative plan and that that was why he hadn’t turned in very many souls at all that century.

“You gave them a road, Crawly,” Ilrun verbalised the reminder, “And I got given 50 years of cleaning duties. I’ve still got 5 years left of it.”

Crowley thought it best not to mention that actually Hell had been quite impressed with that particular feat of engineering and had actually given him a commendation for it. It was just that they knew that Ilrun had lied for him. He supposed it wasn’t a huge leap of logic to realise that engineering a road to release evil into the atmosphere endlessly probably wouldn’t really take almost 200 years to complete. No matter how clever had it been.

“And I would have apologised, Ilrun, you know that,” Crowley stressed, “But you also know how they feel about apologies” This was said in almost a whisper. As though the very walls around them were listening into their conversation. And this was Hell. The idea was very probable.

“Whatever.” Ilrun dismissed him, “What is it that you want? You have 30 seconds or I’m throwing you out”

“I need to know every demon that is currently, or has been in the past month or so, stationed in and around London, England.”

That garnered a raised eyebrow, “And what do you want to be knowing that for? ‘Fraid someone’s going to show you up? As if that would be difficult” Ilrun scoffed.

Crowley shrugged, aiming for casual but, in truth, probably coming across as more guilty than anything else, “Just thought I knew every one of us in the area”

“And don’t you?”

“The other day,” Crowley disclosed with a sigh, internally debating how much to reveal, “I was out, minding my own business, looking for souls to corrupt and I saw a demon I didn’t recognise. Wanted to know if I should be introducing myself, you know.”

Ilrun studied him for a moment, lips pursed tightly together, with the look of someone that had just realised they held more power than they originally thought.

“Liar.”

_Shit._

“And I suppose I should call you ‘Idiot’ as well” Ilrun continued, “I don’t know why you seem to think that I can track every demon, apart from yourself.”

Okay. Double shit. The ‘Idiot’ accusation was probably quite apt.

“Oh sure, you disappear sometimes. You always reappear in the same spot though, so I know full well that every time you vanish, you’re off with your little dirty secret.”

“He’s not…” Crowley stopped himself, but the damage was already done and Ilrun’s satisfied smirk said it all. He deflated, not really sure where to go from here. “So, I don’t imagine you’ll help anyway?”

Ilrun held onto his smirk. Chin now perched on interlocked fingers. He stayed in that same position for a moment longer. And then another moment. And then just at the point when Crowley was ready to call it a day and just leave, did Ilrun speak again.

This time his expression had softened just a touch. As soft as any demon who hadn’t gone quite so native as Crowley could go, at least, “Now then, Crawly, I didn’t say that did I?”

Despite every instinct in his body telling him not to, Crowley couldn’t help but look at the other demon with just a hint of hope in his eyes.

“Now, call it what you will, but I’m going to blame it on my own damned curiosity,” Ilrun began, “I kind of wanna see what the information that I’m going to give you will bring about. Might be nothing, but it might also be hugely entertaining for me. And a demon needs some entertainment every once in a while” He shrugged, “Also, I never liked that Ligur either”

Crowley grinned and, with a gesture, followed Ilrun to the back room. In the centre of the room sat a large globe covered in tiny red dots. Every red dot indicated a single demon. Ilrun motioned for Crowley to step closer as he spun the globe to where England sat. With two taps a holographic version of the country was brought up to their faces. Never let it be said that Hell hadn’t made its own advancements as time had progressed.

“Where is it you were, when you saw your unknown friend?”

Crowley indicated to the café in question and told Ilrun the exact time he’d seen the demon. A few more taps and some ‘mhmm’s later and then, “Ah, yes, I see. There they are” And pointed and then enlarged the details

“Erzin?!” Crowley exclaimed, “That rat bastard, what’s he doing spying on me?”

“He?”

“Well, last I saw them they were pretending to be a human male,” He explained, “Got given a new form I guess. No wonder I didn’t recognise them… any 'official' reason for them being there?”

Ilrun shrugged, “Not that I know of. They’re working for Belias now, a recent shuffle as I heard it, if that helps any”

Crowley suppressed a shudder. He and Belias didn’t have what you’d call the best working relationship, and given that he hadn’t seen Belias since the averted Apocalypse, he could only imagine that that relationship had soured even further. That made things both worse and more complicated than Crowley had first anticipated.

He nodded to the other demon, “It helps, thanks Ilrun”

Thank you’s weren’t quite so frowned upon as apologies, but they still weren’t exchanged very often and both demon’s glanced around to see if anyone had been listening in before they said their goodbye’s.

***

It wasn’t so much that he was bored. Well, okay, that might be a bit of a lie. He was actually extraordinarily bored. So bored that he’d taken to actually attempting some organisation of his bookshelves. Not that that was relieving the boredom at all. But what was truly irritating him was that he didn’t usually get bored. He’d gone for decades with barely any true contact from other beings and had been more than okay with it.

Perhaps it was that he knew there was something going on, something that potentially involved him, and yet Crowley had up and left him to potter about his shop while the demon was off playing master detective Down Below and there was nothing Aziraphale could do to help. So really, it was frustration as opposed to boredom that was plaguing him.

Another sigh, as his fingers brushed against a first edition copy of _Bleak House_ by Charles Dickens (an author whom Aziraphale enjoyed very much, and yet caused quite a bit of contention between him and his dear Oscar Wilde). He had just slipped the book into place when a quiet knock sounded throughout the shop. A quick glance at the door, and a check of his watch, confirmed that the ‘Closed’ sign was firmly in place. Hopefully, that meant that it was someone he actually knew. Someone that, unfortunately, wasn’t Crowley. Knocking on a door wasn’t something that the demon had a tendency to do. Especially not when it came to Aziraphale’s bookshop. Not that Aziraphale minded.

A smile graced the angel’s face when, upon opening the door, he was greeted by Gabriel.

“Aziraphale!” The archangel exclaimed as he crossed the threshold into what could only have been described as ‘organised chaos’, “I see you’ve been… organising?”

Aziraphale stood, just a little bit awkwardly, at the door, wringing his hands together as he surveyed the room, “I – well, yes – I suppose…” suddenly more self-conscious of the mess than he was approximately two minutes ago. Having Gabriel, in his sharply pressed suit and perfectly styled hair, standing in the middle of Aziraphale’s stacks of books and discarded sheets of paper was quite the contrast and he was certain that Crowley would have found it most amusing. “I do apologise, Gabriel,” he continued, “I would say it doesn’t usually look like this, but, well, you’ve been here before so…”

He awkwardly gestured around the room, inwardly cursing the fact that he was, for some reason, still babbling. Chancing a glance upwards at the archangel, he found that Gabriel was looking at him with, what could only be described as, a fond smile.

“It’s quite alright, Aziraphale,” He replied, “It’s pleasing to see that you are still the same angel I left a few days ago”

“Oh,” The angel in question was somewhat surprised, “Was I not supposed to be?”

“Not at all,” Gabriel exclaimed, as he walked back to Aziraphale, placing a large hand on the other’s back to lead him to the sofa in the back room, “I was just a little fearful that the ritual might have made you…” He hesitated briefly as he searched for the right words, “Lose your ‘spark’ as these mortals are fond of saying.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. It had been a number of millennia since Gabriel had last been so openly affectionate towards him. Or even just open with him in general. Ever since he’d been demoted after the Eden incident, Gabriel had slowly begun to treat him more and more like one of his inferiors, rather than the equal he had once been. Aziraphale wasn’t too proud to say that, while the dynamic shift did make sense to an extent, it had also stung to begin with.

“I never thought you approved of my ‘spark’?” He couldn’t help but query, hands fiddling with a loose piece of stitching on the sofa while he refused to look Gabriel in the eye. Now that he was even more demoted, not much more celestial than the mortals they were supposed to watch over, he found himself reverting to his old ways of showing respect and submission, even as he questioned what was being said.

“Well, sometimes that spark doesn’t necessarily correlate with a more angelic way of being,” Gabriel conceded, “But it’s what makes you… you… and I would rather not have that changed”

Aziraphale did glance up then, a slight frown playing on his face as his eyes searched the archangels. Gabriel’s tone was unusually soft towards him and he couldn’t help the feelings of suspicion as they rose up within him. He had assumed that the previous softness that Gabriel had shown, just before the ritual had been enacted, was based purely on the bad news that he was delivering. Aziraphale had, therefore, figured that any visit Gabriel would make thereafter would be as they had been previously; short, to-the-point, making sure that he wasn’t doing anything else ‘wrong’ with his time. Could he have been mistaken?

Gabriel then suddenly clapped his hands together and got to his feet, “Perhaps I could help you?” He offered, “You know, with all this?”

“You know about organising books?”

“Well… not exactly,” He admitted, “But, you could show me and… erm…”

“Gabriel,” Aziraphale interrupted, gesturing for the archangel to sit back down, placing one hand on his knee in order to ground him there, “Tell me, honestly please, why have you come to visit today?”

Gabriel’s shoulders dropped as he released a breath. He put one of his own hands over the one Aziraphale had placed on his knee, his thumb tracing small circles on the skin there. Aziraphale remembered what it had felt like the felt time he had felt the archangels skin on his own, the thrill it had caused at the time. There was less of a thrill now, but the small, intimate touch was a pleasant comfort on its own and he couldn’t help but watch the motions, almost becoming distracted until Gabriel spoke again,

“If I’m being very honest with you,” He began, “I simply wanted to see how you were doing after everything? And to check how your progress was going?”

Aziraphale nodded slowly, “I’ve been as well as expected, really. Some days are fine; others are not so much… I tend to find myself more physically tired now, so…” He trailed off as the second of Gabriel’s questions processed, “Wait, what do you mean progress?”

It was Gabriel’s turn to look confused, the motion of thumb ceasing as he replied, “Your progress in proving yourself” as though it was obvious.

Aziraphale pulled his hand away from Gabriel’s knee, “I don’t understand,” He said, slowly as he attempted to pull the loose strings together, “I was never told I had to ‘prove myself’. What does that even mean?”

The archangel’s confusion soon turned to a frown laced with the hints of anger, “That damned demon” He growled.

“Crowley? What does he have to do with this?”

“I told him how the punishment was to be lifted,” Gabriel said, “I told him as clear as anything that the Ophanim wanted you to prove yourself to Them. To prove that you are, and always will be, a loyal servant of Heaven.”

Aziraphale, by this point, was shaking his head, denial and anguish coating his features in equal measures, “No” He whispered, “No, I asked Crowley… I asked him whether he thought the punishment was permanent. You can’t tell me that he knew.”

Gabriel got to his knees in front of the other angel. If Aziraphale wasn’t so focussed on dismissing the idea that his beloved Crowley could have lied to him about something like this, he might have been both gobsmacked and flattered that the archangel would think him worthy enough of a gesture such as this.

“Aziraphale, as an archangel, and as your friend, you know I would not lie to you about this,” he had both hands on the angel’s knees, “the demon was aware, and he chose to withhold that information from you. Although, I don’t know if you can blame him… he is a demon after all. Lying is in their nature”

“But, I don’t understand. Why _would_ he lie about this?” Aziraphale knew Crowley told lies, of all sorts and to all the varying degrees of severity. However, to his knowledge, Crowley had not used this innate skill of lying against him. Crowley had always sworn honesty to Aziraphale. Was it foolishness on Aziraphale’s part to have always believed him?

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Gabriel said with a scoff, “The demon likes you like this.” At Aziraphale’s confused look, the archangel continued, “The more mortal you are, the easier it is for him to keep you. He doesn’t want you back in Heaven, where you belong. He wants you to remain here, on Earth… with him”

Aziraphale frowned again as he got up to pace the room, “How would lying to me achieve that? I was on Earth before the ritual, why would proving myself to the Ophanim change that?” He felt quite certain that Crowley wasn’t the only one who had been withholding information. He felt that even more keenly when Gabriel suddenly looked more nervous than he had previously. “Gabriel, tell me the truth”

Gabriel sighed as he, also, got to his feet, “If you were to prove yourself to the Ophanim, They would want you to return to Heaven… indefinitely.”

“Excuse me?” Exclaimed a familiar voice from the door of the bookshop. Trust Crowley to choose just the right time to return. “Care to tell me what’s going on here?” The demon questioned as he entered the shop to find a distressed-looking Aziraphale and a Gabriel who managed to look both nervous and angry at the same time.

“You.” The archangel growled, “I thought you were going to tell him how to lift the punishment”

Crowley’s eyed widened, almost comically, as he put two and two together. He turned to face Aziraphale, “Angel, I’m sorry, you have to…”

Aziraphale held up one hand, “We will talk about that in a moment.” He promised, a vaguest hint of a threat in his tone, “For now, I want Gabriel to tell me exactly why I would need to return to Heaven. I’ve spent my time as a Principality on Earth caring for the humans in my given jurisdiction, why would that need to change if my punishment were to be rescinded?”

He turned to Gabriel expectantly, arms folded tight across his chest and an eyebrows raised in waiting. Any anger on the archangel’s face that had been directed at Crowley had vanished in an instant, now there was only nervousness remaining,

“Well,” He began, “It would be the final way of proving yourself. The Ophanim would view willingly returning to Heaven, especially with no guarantee of returning to Earth, as true loyalty. They know you have _certain ties_ to this place,” He glared, briefly, at Crowley, “so; to give those ties up would prove yourself completely to Them. They may even consider allowing you to re-join the ranks of Cherubim.”

Aziraphale had to stop his mouth from falling open with the shock. It was unheard of to allow a demoted angel to return to full rank. Not that there had been many cases after Aziraphale. Or, indeed, any at all, to his knowledge at least.

He should have been overjoyed that such a possibility was even open to him. He should have been scrambling to come up with ways to prove himself to Them so that he might regain his angelic grace. It should have been news that made his dreams come true, as the human saying went.

What Aziraphale was actually feeling, was really just a bit overwhelmed by it all. “But, I don’t want to leave” He stated, his voice smaller than he had intended as he twisted his hands together.

Gabriel frowned, “Aziraphale-” He began, until he was cut off by Crowley,

“Didn’t you hear? He said he didn’t want to go anywhere,” He said, folding his arms across his chest in defiance, “now why don’t you flutter off back Up There. I need to talk to Aziraphale about something”

“Crowley, stop that!” Aziraphale exclaimed, “Don’t you think you’ve inserted yourself into this quite enough?”

Crowley gaped for just a moment, then let his hands fall back down to the sides of his body as he took on a suitably admonished expression, “But, angel-”

“Apparently not if you have anything to do with it” the angel in question said in retort, “don’t think you’re off the hook yet, my dear”

Admonished quickly turned to chastened and Crowley had the good sense to press his lips together for the time being.

Gabriel took the opportunity to finish what he’d been trying to say before Crowley had interrupted, “Aziraphale, I’m afraid that’s not all there is to it”

Aziraphale knew that tone of Gabriel’s. His voice had held a similar tone just before he’d delivered the news of his punishment and he felt his eyebrows furrow, “What more could there possibly be?”

“The Ophanim won’t let this punishment continue indefinitely,” the archangel informed him, “the idea is that the punishment will make you understand that your true purpose lies with Heaven. It is not their will not have powerless angels roaming the Earth, I’m sure you understand.”

“Tell me then, Gabriel, what is Their intention with all of this?”

Gabriel sighed, “If you do not prove yourself,” He swallowed, “Then I’m afraid they intend for you to Fall.”

Aziraphale almost felt his blood turn to ice through his veins. It felt as though the Earth had come to a crashing halt and he couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped him, “But – I thought –” He spluttered. He thought that reason for the punishment was an alternative to Falling. He didn’t think that his punishment was simply a prelude to it. He was vaguely aware of both Crowley and Gabriel coming to either side of him, Gabriel having taken hold of his hands and Crowley wrapping an arm around his shoulders,

“Aziraphale,” He registered Gabriel speaking, “I swear to you that I will fight it with every fibre of my being should it come to that. But you know as well as I that They are not easily swayed.”

It was a nice sentiment, and being held by his demon as he whispered into his ear that ‘everything will be okay; it’ll all work out, just as it always has’ was also nice. It should have all been a comfort. However, and this happened at a very rapid pace, Aziraphale felt as though his chest was being crushed and like all of unnecessary air inside his lungs had forcefully been ejected from him.

All of a sudden, he felt as though everything in the room was suffocating him, including the two beings he loved most in the world.

“I – I have to leave” He whispered, voice shaky and uncertain as he pushed away from Gabriel and Crowley, “I need – air” He stumbled towards the door with choppy strides, “Just for a moment. I need to clear my head.” He glanced back at the other two, noting that they both seemed poised to follow him, “Alone.” He reiterated, before offering what he hoped was reassuring smile as he quickly escaped the shop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell this is a bit of a filler chapter?  
> Can you tell I really struggle to write filler chapters and they take me twice as long as plot-heavy chapters, even though their about half the length?
> 
> Next chapter should come quicker because the plot starts picking up again and those are the ones that I have a clear and concise plan for!


	5. An Inconvient Kidnapping

It took a good five minutes of brisk walking until Aziraphale finally decided that maybe - just maybe - storming out of his own bookshop probably wasn’t the wisest idea he’d had this millennia. He paused, momentarily, in a valiant attempt to regain his bearings. He’d stopped himself just outside a pub, The Adam and Eve, and rolled his eyes at the irony of it. At least he knew where he was now, he supposed. Now it was just a case of deciding if he was prepared to head back the way he’d come and confront the archangel and demon he’d left in his shop, where they’d hopefully still left some of his shop standing of course.

He knew he hadn’t been in his right mind when he’d left. Usually he would head directly out of his shop and walk the 15 minutes to St James’s Park to clear his head. He wasn’t quite sure why his feet had lead him in the opposite direction. With a small huff, he made to turn on his heel and head back in the other direction when he was stopped again. This time, by a rather petite young woman. Her hair fell in tattered strands around her shoulders, but her eyes were wide and bright. Too wide, and too bright, Aziraphale noted just as an overwhelming aura of Bad invaded his senses.

He thought he’d been quick to disguise his surprise, but the smirk that played upon her lips told him that she knew he’d realised. He briefly wondered why that would seem to please her, until he took a couple of steps back and suddenly felt the pointed tip of a large blade at the small of his back.

“Any more steps and even dear Raph won’t be able to help you”

The voice behind him was cruel in even its intonation. A sense of vileness played on every syllable that fell off the unknown demon’s tongue and all of a sudden, Aziraphale felt very small, and very scared, and very stupid for doing the one thing that Crowley had asked him not to do.

The one that had taken on the female form laughed. Short and sharp and really more of a cackle than genuine laughter and the sound drew some attention to them from passers-by. It was short-lived though and Aziraphale knew that human’s wouldn’t be able to help him out of this particular predicament. Demon’s were incredibly gifted at making human’s think that there was nothing out of the ordinary happening.

“Not got much to say have you, eh? Angel?”

Aziraphale grimaced as he was reminded of Crowley’s predilection towards calling him ‘Angel’. However, when he said it, it sounded more like a term of endearment. This sounded more like mocking and Aziraphale decided against giving her the satisfaction of a reply.

She waited a moment longer, before she whined, “Hastur… it’s not being any fun!”

He knew that name. He’d heard Crowley complain about the so-called 'Duke of Hell' on multiple occasions. Then he remembered what else Crowley had mentioned and his blood ran cold. Hastur was the demon that Crowley had tried to kill with Holy Water - or one of the two at least. He recalled Crowley bragging about how the trap had ‘got one of them at least’ and at the time he’d simply smiled and nodded and not really thought about it since. Until this moment.

“Don’t worry yourself, Erzin” Hastur replied, “I’m sure Beelzebub will let you watch when the real fun begins… Belias says she’s gonna start selling tickets!”

The female-presenting demon, Erzin, clapped her hands together in glee, and it was at this point that Aziraphale began to think that he should start figuring out a way to get out of the situation.  Unfortunately, as though he’d read his mind, Hastur pressed the tip of the blade even harder against Aziraphale’s back,

“Ah ah ah, angel,” he tutted, bringing his free hand up to curl around said angel’s throat, “This here’s a special blade – don’t know if you’ve heard about it yet – but I’ve been told by my superiors that one slice from this will _very slowly_ drain the grace out of an angel. And we know all about your punishment – I reckon even the tiniest nick will have you empty.”

Aziraphale stilled instantly. The colour drained from his face and now he was truly beginning to panic, “What do you want from me?” He had to ask, as though demon’s tended to have reasons for the cruelty they inflicted,

Erzin smirked, “You made Beelzebub look like a fool!” She exclaimed, her voice tinged with outright glee, “You and that thing we call ‘brethren’”

 _Crowley._ Suddenly Aziraphale was terrified, not just for his own safety, but he worried about what they were planning to do to his beloved demon. Clearly, Hell wasn’t as ignorant of Crowley’s part in the averted apocalypse as he’d thought they’d been. It was, admittedly, a foolish thought, he reasoned. If Heaven had decided that Aziraphale needed punishment, they should have guessed it would only be a matter of time before Hell would come up with their own version of punishment for his counterpart.

“Please,” normally he would be horrified at the idea of begging with demons in this manner, but he couldn’t think of what else he could do, he was all but powerless with his Grace diminished, “do whatever you want with me – but I must ask that you leave him alone”

That earned him a bark of laughter for his efforts and the sound made him wince

“Stupid angel,” she spat, “Can’t you figure it out?”

He must have given her a somewhat confused look, judging by the way she rolled her eyes in exasperation before throwing Hastur a look that asked for him to take over explanations.

“It’s very simple,” He continued, conversationally, “That idiot, Crowley, has allowed himself to _care_ for you.” Aziraphale could almost see the sneered plastered on his face when he said the word ‘care’, as though it was the worst thing that Crowley could have done. Perhaps to most demons it was. “Of course, that makes things easy for us. We torture you beyond all recognition and can you imagine how that would make him suffer?”

Aziraphale gulped and thought again about whether just trying to run for it would be worth the risk. All those times that Gabriel had tried to persuade him to exercise, in an attempt to keep his corporeal form fit and healthy. He was beginning to think that he might take the archangel up on that offer. If he ever got out of this alive, that was.

“Or even better,” Erzin added, “we torture you until you curse God. Until you lose all of your remaining hope and faith. And you know what that would mean, don’t you?” She had a wild look in her eyes as she encouraged Aziraphale to nod with her, “How many millennia has it been since our last Fallen angel? It’s so exciting isn’t it?”

He had nothing to say. Or rather, he had a lot he could have said. He could have begged and pleaded some more. He could have tried praying to see if someone in Heaven might hear him, though he rather suspected that if he’d tried that the knife at his back might be quickly slicing through his spinal cord. He didn’t want to think about how much the thought terrified him.

So he stayed silent, attempting defiance, though the result was less than impressive and he knew it. He tried not to let his mind wander to the sort of torture that Hell had waiting for him. Crowley had told him before that they were particularly inventive about the punishments they inflicted on those that were captured or demon that had done too much Good. There were nights that Crowley, having decided that Aziraphale’s sofa was a ‘good enough’ place for a nap, had woken up in a cold sweat after his mind had supplied him with images of those punishments being executed on him. Aziraphale had comforted his demon during those nights, held him close and surrounded them both within the safety of his wings while he used an aura of peace and serenity to soothe him until his thoughts were calm. And each time, without fail, Crowley would leave the next day and spend the next week or so tempting the general population into doing Bad, or performing deeds that would cause foul tempers and irritation to surge within whatever humans he chose. On these occasions, Aziraphale would leave him to it and feign ignorance if his lack of thwarting was ever called in to question.

At the time, he’d been scared of what would happened to his beloved if Hell had ever decided to come for him. Now, he was facing the very real inevitability of finding out first-hand what they might have had planned.

“Urgh,” Erzin grumbled after a few minutes of silence, “It’s not saying anything now - can we just go?”

Hastur glanced around him once. Then once more to be certain. Then with a sharp nod to his colleague, Aziraphale felt himself being pushed towards a nearby abandoned building where he could feel the large quantities of demonic evil washing over him, invading every pore and making his skin crawl uncomfortably. Angels of his rank (even his rank before his latest punishment) were not supposed to be this close to a portal to Hell. The waves of Evil were already making him feel a bit woozy. In fact, he thought it seemed like there was an inky blackness creeping into the periphery of his vision. That was, as it turned out, his last coherent thought before he slumped forwards in unconsciousness.

***

“Does he usually leave for this long?”

Gabriel was the one to awkwardly break the tense silence that had been present since Aziraphale’s departure. Neither the archangel nor the demon had moved from the spots that Aziraphale had left them in and it suddenly hit Crowley that they’d been standing and throwing glares at each other for around an hour so far. He looked towards the shop door as if half-expecting Aziraphale to appear as though summoned, cheeks tinged pink as they always were after a brisk walk on a chilled spring day in London.

That didn’t happened though, and Crowley frowned slightly, “Not usually.”

It wasn’t entirely true. Aziraphale did tend to leave the shop for long periods, especially when he’d gotten wind of a rare book for sale in some random shop in the middle of nowhere. Crowley, on multiple occasions, had had to scare off some solicitors that had tried to take advantage of the angel’s absence and forcibly evict him. His efforts had accidentally garnered the bookshop a reputation for being a paranormal hotspot, and Aziraphale had ended up having, not only solicitors, but also teams of paranormal investigators knocking at the door.

However, Aziraphale didn’t tend to leave for so long after claiming he was only popping out for ‘just a moment’. Especially given the circumstances under which he left.

“Would you know?” Crowley asked.

Gabriel raised an eyebrow, “Know what?”

“If something happened to him?” Crowley didn’t particularly want to imagine that anything could have happened to his angel in such a short space of time, but the thought would be plaguing his mind if he didn’t at least ask, “Like, you can feel a Heavenly presence nearby, right?”

“We’re not bonded” Gabriel snapped. He hadn’t meant to, if he were honest with himself. The demon probably wasn’t aware of the phenomena he was very nearly describing and he wasn’t particularly far off with what Gabriel thought he had meant to describe. He was almost correct in that Celestial beings could sense another’s aura, whether that aura was Heavenly or Infernal. However, the way Crowley had put it made it sound more like the almost psychic link that formed between a bonded pair of celestial beings. The implication that he might have something like that with Aziraphale stung in a way that Gabriel hadn’t quite been expecting.

“You what?”

 _Interesting._ Gabriel perked up, just slightly. The demon wasn’t aware of bonding. Of course, his knowledge and memories of Celestial things, such as bonding, would have been erased after his Fall. Apparently, Aziraphale hadn’t yet felt the need to inform the demon of the possibility of such things.

He couldn’t help but allow a surge of hope rise within him. _Perhaps Aziraphale didn’t want to form a bond with the demon after all._

“Nothing,” He waved Crowley’s question off, “But, yes, for that matter. It’s not about feeling a ‘Heavenly presence’, as you so idiotically put it. I can feel an aura of Good, though.” Then he frowned, “It is, however, far stronger than Aziraphale’s had been when he left”

It was odd. Aziraphale’s aura had been alarmingly weakened after the ritual and had only marginally regained in strength as he recovered from the ordeal. The aura he could feel was akin to…

“Fuck,” Crowley interrupted Gabriel’s train of thought, his voice strained with discomfort, “That feels like a damned migraine heading straight for me.”

Then a light knock sounded on the door and the feminine voice called, “Aziraphale? Gabriel? Are you in there?”

_Sariel._

The door miracled itself open, and then closed itself once the Seraph had entered the room. A kind smile was present on her face when she looked to Gabriel to greet him. A smile that was quickly wiped away when she caught sight of the demon that also occupied the small space that was Aziraphale’s shop floor.  

“What is he doing here?”

Crowley bristled. Every fibre of his being telling him to tell this new angel where to shove it, and that he had more right to be here than any of them, but the thought that Aziraphale might be upset with him for doing so kept him holding his tongue. To an extent at least.

“Oi!” He exclaimed, “Why don’t you start by telling me who, exactly, you are?”

Like most other angels, she had perfected the very specific look of distaste that angels liked to give demons. Like they were a particularly bothersome stain that refused to be washed out of their favourite top. It was a look that Crowley had remembered Aziraphale trying to replicate early in their time together. Not that Aziraphale had done a very good job with it.

This new angel though, she was very good at it. Crowley might have even said she was better at it than Gabriel was, and that was saying something. However, there seemed to be more to it than that. Crowley could feel her gaze piercing through him, like she was looking for something in particularly and getting more frustrated that she couldn’t find whatever it was she was looking for.

After a moment of staring him down, she finally replied, “My name is Sariel, of the Seraphim”, with a huff for good measure, before she turned to talk to Gabriel again,

“Is this definitely him? The demon?”

Gabriel nodded, “Definitely him, yes”

“But he doesn’t feel that-”

“I know, Sariel”

“It is strange, because most demons feel-”

“I said I know,” Gabriel gritted out, “Do you understand the problem now?”

“Is it Aziraphale’s doing?”

“I’m…. I don’t know”

Gabriel sighed, a hint of defeat audible in his tone. Sariel’s features took on a softer look; the righteousness that seemed to be ever-present on most angels had faded to take on a look that Crowley could only think to describe as ‘sympathetic’

“Would anybody care to what you two are going on about?” Crowley interjected, “You know, it’s quite rude to talk about someone when they’re in the same room as you”

Sariel turned her attention back on him before she moved closer. She moved as if she was floating and Crowley was struck with the sudden urge to back away very fast. All at once she felt like his judge, jury and executioner, to deal punishment for a crime he wasn’t sure he’d committed and Crowley had to wonder whether everybody who met her felt as he did. It was ridiculous. He was a demon; he wasn’t supposed to feel judgement from any angel. Apart from Aziraphale, on occasion. However, that was more judgement along the lines of, putting one of his first editions in the wrong place on the bookshelf, or driving the Bentley too fast through the middle of London, or whispering in his ear all the ways he would pleasure the angel while he was in the middle of eating his desert at the Ritz.

“You are not like the others,” She said, whether to herself or to him, he wasn’t certain.

“What others?”

As this, she hesitated, seemingly seesawing between telling him the truth, or throwing out something cryptic that he couldn’t make head nor tail of. She looked towards Gabriel, who replied with what appeared to be a cross between a shrug and a nod.

“Most demons are devoid of love. It is what defines them as demons. It allows them to tempt and corrupt and lead innocents on a sinful path.” She explained, “However, I can feel a sense of love in you. How is that?”

This didn’t surprise Crowley as much as it probably should have done. He knew he could feel love. He’d known it millennia ago. If he thought back long enough, he’d have remembered feeling that initial spark the moment Aziraphale had told him that he’d given the flaming sword away to Adam and Eve. As it was, he could feel it every time he saw Aziraphale smiling at him from the other side of the bookshop while Crowley lounged atop the old worn sofa to pass the time as he thumbed through the latest rare book addition to his collection. He could feel it every time Aziraphale touched his arm in that gentle way of his when he wanted to get Crowley’s attention. He could feel it every time he made love to his angel, after he’d spent himself inside the other, wrapped his arms around him and nuzzled into the top of his blonde curls.

So yes, he was perfectly aware of his own capacity for love. He still didn’t know whether that made him different from other demons, or whether other demons that he knew of just chose to not show love and angels, in their arrogance, just assumed the demons were incapable of it. But he wasn’t about to let her know that,

“‘Love’?” He scoffed, “What utter nonsense. I am a demon you know. Think love’s a bit contradictory there don’t you? Now lust on the other hand…”

“Lying to me would be a very foolish thing to do, demon”

Crowley raised an eyebrow and happened to glance over at Gabriel as he did so. Which was apparently the right thing to do and he just caught Gabriel mouthing something at him. ‘-ath’? ‘inpass’? No, not a word. ‘Impasse’? That didn’t seem right. ‘A path?’ What point would that make?

Then it hit him. Empath.

Now it all made sense. That’s why Crowley felt a keen sense of judgement when she looked at him. He’d known about the empathy of angels, he’d probably had it himself when he was an angel, though that time has been wiped from his memory. It was an innate sense for most of them, but the emotions that most angels could sense had to be felt keenly by the one they were reading. Crowley had heard of these particularly powerful empaths.

With this thought in mind, he kept his lips pressed tightly together.

She stared him down a moment longer, then sighed and said, “Tell me, where is Aziraphale now?”

Crowley and Gabriel glanced at each other, then back to her, then back to each other where Crowley offered a shrug as an answer and Gabriel seemed to be stammering for some kind of explanation for the angel’s disappearance. To which Sariel responded, with a huff and a roll of the eyes,

“It would be easiest just to tell me that you don’t know”

Gabriel acquiesced, “We don’t know”

“Well done” She replied, and here Crowley was thinking that Aziraphale was the only angel able to coat each of his words with such sugar-coated sarcasm, when apparently there were others that shared this trait.

He was almost ready to feel amusement at the sight of Gabriel being talked to as if he were a particularly difficult child, but then he felt something. Deep inside his core. The same feeling he got whenever he went back down to Hell. It was as though someone had given him a quick short of unnecessary adrenaline that buzzed through his nerve endings in a way that felt wholly unnatural. You see, a demon could sense evil. Could sense just the faint whispering threads of it with a pinpoint accuracy. It lead them to the exact right souls to corrupt and tempt. Most humans were thrumming with it, bubbling just under the surface. The challenge was to tempt the souls that had only a touch of it before an angel could come along and snuff it out.

“Guys,” He interrupted the two angels as they descended into a minor argument about Gabriel’s incompetence in regards to keeping an eye on Aziraphale, “Do either of you feel that?”

They turned to face him, “Feel what?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” He couldn’t help it, he’d been around Aziraphale for over 6000 years, sarcasm was becoming second nature to him, “maybe just the overwhelming aura of evil that’s just popped up?”

Both the celestial beings sniffed the air in unison, noses wrinkling and upper lips curling in distaste and Crowley was suddenly struck with the thought that Aziraphale was truly different from most angels.

“We thought that was just you” Gabriel shrugged as he glanced towards Sariel, who nodded in agreement.

Crowley narrowed his eyes, though, with them still hidden behind his sunglasses he wasn’t sure what effect the glare might have had. With a quick shake of the head, and a sudden fear that their nonchalance towards Aziraphale’s disappearance may have been unwise, he made his way towards the front door, giving little care as to whether or not the archangel and the seraph followed behind. His attention was focussed on pinpointing the source of the overwhelming sense of evil and hoping that there was no trace of anything celestial near it.

***

He hadn’t had to walk far.

He also probably didn’t need to try so hard to locate it. With every step he took closer to the source, he noticed people fighting with each other, customers being thrown from normally quiet establishments, car horns blaring loudly for seemingly little reason. Yes, he was definitely getting closer.

The worry was that Crowley could also sense that warmth that surrounded him every time he was around his angel. It was faint, and it felt tainted amongst all of this chaos, but it was there. There were a number of times that Crowley could remember Aziraphale’s aura feeling similar. It had been noticeably tainted after the two World Wars. Crowley remembered the days he’d spent with his angel, reminding him that good still existed in the world. As much as it had pained Crowley at the time, they had eventually managed to find the amusement in a demon having to remind an angel about the good that humanity had to offer.

Crowley was vaguely aware that Gabriel and Sariel were following close behind him, the two angels having wasted no time in running out of the door as well.

“The stench is foul” He heard Gabriel mutter, “We must be getting close”

Crowley pressed his lips tightly together before he answered, “We are”

Then he turned them off the sidewalk and into a nearby abandoned building. A warehouse to be precise. Hell wasn’t really known for its originality when it came to location scouting. Crowley had tried to bring it up in a meeting once before, that perhaps they might have more luck luring people into the ‘jaws of Hell’ as it were, if said ‘jaws’ were in nicer places. Not many humans tended to wander into spooky abandoned buildings, or eerie forests. Well, not up until recently. Paranormal investigation had taken a big jump into popularity and Hell was having a whale of a time with possessions.

What greeted them, as they entered the stereotypically demonic derelict building, made them all stop in their tracks,

“Is that a…?”

“Portal to Hell?” Crowley finished, “Yes”

“What is it doing here?” Sariel queried,

Crowley rolled his eyes in exasperation. For beings of such divine intellect, angels could sure be a clueless bunch.

“You know, at a guess, it’s probably here to take souls down Below” He replied, “Just a guess though”

Crowley let them stew it over as he walked closer to portal. His corporeal form had a heart, not that it served much purpose for his general state of being, it just sort of came with the territory. However, he could have sworn that he felt his heart sink as his circled the area. He could sense it there, just underneath the surface of evil, that aura that was so distinctly Aziraphale. They were lucky that they had gotten there when they did; the trace of Aziraphale was fading rapidly. If they’d waited much longer Crowley might have never been able to sense it.

He felt Gabriel sidle up to his side, as he stood there by the portals edge, frozen to the spot, before he heard him, “They’ve taken him, haven’t they?”

He felt himself nod, not trusting his mouth to form the correct words in this situation. He wanted to yell. To scream and shout and ask the angels that stood next to him if this was what they wanted when the dealt Aziraphale’s punishment. To query whether they knew what danger they were putting the former-principality in when they turned him nearly mortal. If they had even considered that Hell might act in this way.

He would have continued standing in silence, contemplating his next course of action, until Sariel spoke,

“How could you have let this happen?”

That had him turning on his heel, his serpentine eyes blazing, the yellow overtaking the entire eyeball as he marched to stand toe-to-toe in front of the seraph, “How could I have let this happen?!” He exclaimed, “You think this is my fault?”

“He was left under your care” She replied, seemingly nonplussed at having an enraged demon yelling at her,

“I wasn’t the one that left him on Earth in a severely weakened state am I?”

“He could have been back home by now if it wasn’t for you” came the retort, her serenity of her voice sounded more strained than it had previously,

“His home is here on Earth”

“He only thinks that because of you!”

Crowley blinked; his mouth gaped slightly as he lost his comeback on the tip of his tongue and took a step backwards, “Excuse me?”

Sariel kept quiet, keeping her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she stared Crowley down, and Gabriel took the opportunity to interject before the argument had time to start back up again,

“Look, don’t you think we should, perhaps, focus on getting Aziraphale back from Hell?”

The seraph and the demon held their glares for a moment longer, before Crowley broke it and turned to the archangel, “Do you have a plan?”

He didn’t want to sound too hopeful. He wasn’t quite certain that if he couldn’t think of a plan on the spot, it was highly unlikely that Gabriel wouldn’t have fared much better. But he wasn’t expecting to feel quite so disappointed when the archangel deflated somewhat.

“Yeah, I thought not” Crowley said,

“Can’t you just,” Gabriel faltered slightly, his hands gestured vaguely towards the portal, “go and find him?”

Crowley raised an eyebrow, “You think I can just go in there, by myself, and waltz up to Beelzebub like, ‘Hi, mate, look I know we’re not on best terms but d’ya reckon I can take back that angel you’ve just kidnapped?’ Think that’d work do you?” Gabriel at least had the good sense to look somewhat sheepish that he hadn’t thought of those consequences, before Crowley continued, “Why can’t we all go and… rescue him, I suppose?”

Sariel was the one to answer this time, “We can’t enter the realms of Hell”

“Why not?”

“If we take one uninvited step on infernal ground, it would be acknowledged as an act of war” Gabriel continued, “Given your actions during Armageddon, I can only assume that a war isn’t quite the result you’d be hoping for”

Crowley conceded the point. In truth, to save potentially save Aziraphale’s life, he would happily risk a war between Heaven and Hell in a matter of seconds and take both Aziraphale and himself off to Alpha Centauri to lay low (as per his original plan). However, after everything they’d gone through to prevent the first war, Crowley knew deep down that that was not the result that Aziraphale would want either.

“Well then,” He sighed, clapping his hands together to keep the attention, “we’d better start coming up with some fool-proof plans pretty rapidly then, hadn’t we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, now that the show is out, this is officially counted as 'following canon up until the middle of episode 6'  
> And I won't spoil that just in case there are people who are reading this, who haven't seen the show yet.
> 
> Also I'm debating whether or not to go and change all the instances I refer to God (as when I started writing this I had forgotten that Frances McDormand was the voice of God and was basing my canon on the book)  
> I haven't decided, but from here on I will probably refer to God in gender neutral terms until I do decide.

**Author's Note:**

> So most of this is already plotted out, but not yet actually written. So updates will be on a semi-regular basis, but I'm not going to say weekly because I can't always guarantee that.
> 
> If there are any suggestions you want to make, or anything you either really want me to include or really don't want me to include, feel free to talk to me on [my tumblr](http://casenumber825.tumblr.com/)


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